


Breaking the Ice

by TheSSClexa



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Clexa, Clexa Olympics, F/F, Fluff, Hockey, Hockey AU, Loss of Virginity, Medium Burn, Mutual Pining, Mutual everything, Mutual inexperience, Olympics will be involved, Slow Burn, Smut, Summer, Summer Camp, Summer Love, Teenagers, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, awkward!clarke, clexa au, ish, throw awkward lexa in there too, until they're not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-02-10 03:22:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12902871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSSClexa/pseuds/TheSSClexa
Summary: Clarke and Lexa meet at an all-girls ice hockey camp in Minnesota. But, that's just the beginning as they find themselves meeting again.





	1. Silly Strings

**Author's Note:**

> Got great support for this fic and I can't express how excited I am to write this. Some of you might have noticed all the hockey riddled terminology in my soccer AU, well that's because I actually play hockey... not soccer. I got too excited and jumped on the soccer AU train, peer pressure these days, comes in all forms I guess. I should have just started with this. Anyway, we're here now. 
> 
> Ratings will change as I update. 
> 
> Alright, let's get to the puck drop!

Her first kiss. Not just any first kiss, but her first time kissing a girl. A chaste press on the lips, unsure of the consequences. The ambiguity that bubbles within, questioning herself and the other girl’s interest. Racing doubt crossed with unbearable anticipation and overwhelming curiosity.

_She’s either going to push me away or kiss me back._

Either way, Clarke takes the chance.

And like a high-risk win with all bets in, Clarke is rewarded when the girl kisses back.

 

∞

 

Summer Girl’s Hockey Camp

St. Cloud State University, St. Cloud, MN

 

Lexa drops her hockey gear bag down, along with a medium suitcase and her two right-handed Bauer Nexus hockey sticks, immediately feeling out of place as the other girls wore their local Minnesota high school logoed shirts, backpacks, and gear bags compared to her Washington Capitals t-shirt. A little upset at her father for missing the DC camp deadline, he scrambled to find her another camp just a prized and sent Lexa on her way to one of the highest rated USA Hockey camps for girls located an hour Northwest of Minneapolis, MN, an area in the States predominantly known for youth hockey development.

At 16 years old, Lexa stood out among other players as mature, patient, and smart. A deadly combination with her speed and grace on ice that had her name on US Olympic scout’s lists as one of the top defenders. Easily setting the pace for the entire game as soon as she set foot on ice, Lexa controlled the play like a star quarterback with endless vision and phenomenal hockey sense. Lexa seemed to already know where the play was going, and what to do several steps before she even received the puck on her stick like an advanced game of chess. Really fast chess.

“Name?” the man says at the outdoor check-in table.

“Lexa Forest.”

He scans the list, “From DC?”

Lexa nods.  

“Go it,” as he checks off her name and recites a monotonous blurb he’ll have to say at least a dozen more times today, “You’re in room eight. Here’s your key, $10 charge if you lose it, here’s the two-week schedule,” pulling out a pen and circling, “campus map on the back,” as he flips the paper floppily around, “and orientation at the main clubhouse at 4pm followed by dinner at 6pm. Questions?”

“No. Thanks.”

Lexa wasn’t overwhelmed, she had been to previous hockey camps before, but felt a little out of place with so many unacquainted faces and the new surrounding campus. Swiftly taking the paper along with her belongings, Lexa heads for the door behind.

“Next!” she hears him shout behind her.

Entering the standard room with a pair of beds, desk and dresser, her roommate had already take the right side of the room with a duffle on the mattress and hockey gear resting on the floor. It really wasn’t all that exciting with a few hockey quotes painted along the hallway outside including Wayne Gretzky’s famous, “You miss 100 percent of the shots you don’t take.”

Lexa begins to unpack a few of her items when a dark haired, caramel skinned girl comes rushing in, laughing with silly string in her hair and slamming the door behind.

Slightly startled at the sight of Lexa, an unfamiliar face, “Oh hey. Are you my new roommie?” Automatically combing the silly string of her hair.

“It looks like it.”

“I’m Raven,” she reaches out her hand.

“Lexa.”

The door bursts open again.

“Rae! Stop running away!” as a blonde comes bustling in, holding two cans of silly string and starts spraying with both hands.

“Dammit Grif!” yells Raven, blindly reaching for a pillow and chucking it in the blonde’s direction to stop the stream. The blonde quickly dodges, inadvertently spraying up and along the walls of the room before reaching Raven again. Lexa automatically leans back to avoid the collateral spray as Raven picks up a second pillow, holding it up like a shield and charging at the blonde against the door.

If Lexa was uncomfortable earlier, she felt even more so now. Standing in the middle of a silly string bridging potential pillow fight, Lexa felt like a third wheel as Raven and the blonde begin to lightly wrestle.

“Aw fuck, I’m out!” says the blonde, dropping the cans and surrendering, still laughing with tussled hair, glimmering eyes and a brilliant smile when she turns her attention to Lexa standing idly by.

“Oh shit, I didn’t even see you. Sorry,” Clarke apologizes with a few blinks to readjust her vision. Sweeping a combination of silly string and golden strands out of her face, she instinctively reaches out her hand, “So you’re the one who took my place as Raven’s roommate. Broke our three-year streak.”

Reaching back out to shake timidly, “I – suppose so, Lexa,” unsure how upset the blonde was about not being Raven’s roommate, but felt an underlying trepidation she couldn’t quite pinpoint within herself. Lexa didn’t notice how sweaty her hands had gotten until their palms touched, initiating a mild heat that began to crawl up her neck. _What was happening?_

The blonde didn’t seem to notice, “Clarke,” she replies amicably, letting go of Lexa’s hand, which made Lexa immediately miss the warm contact as cool, air-conditioned emptiness took its place.

“Sorry, we’ll clean this up,” Clarke says, leaning down and starting to wrap the plastic string together in a ball, “I’ve never seen you here before. Are you new?”

Lexa watches as the blonde before her seemed to own the room, though with purpose to collect silly string, her demeanor was more than that. Kind, confident… cute. Very cute.

From a young age, Lexa knew. Suspicion sprouting in junior high when girls began chit chatting about boy crushes, passing notes, and gossiping. As Lexa emerged into a beautiful, strong athlete, she found it flattering when boys started to ask her out, but continuously and politely declined, solidifying her interest in women more and more. Slowly finding herself stir with wonder and excitement when watching girls kiss on TV, women publicly hold hands, and yes… reading explicit fanfiction. Many times, she had no idea what some of the sex positions were quite frankly because Lexa had never even kissed a girl. Actually, she had never kissed anybody. Ever. Though Lexa was not exactly shy, she just preferred to keep to herself and the opportunity never quite presented itself. Except the older she got, the more timid she felt about her lack of experience.

“Huh?” replies Lexa in a light daze.

“Are you new?” asks Clarke, pointing to the red, white, and blue Capitals logo on Lexa’s chest.

“Oh, yeah, I’m from DC.”

“Is this your first summer camp?”

“No, my dad missed the signup for the camp I usually go to.”

“Oh,” replies Clarke with a light nod, “Well, welcome,” she finishes with a generous smile.

Lexa felt a cheerful sensation with Clarke’s directed smile, causing her heart to beat just a little bit faster, stomach flutter and breathe quicken.

“Thanks,” replies Lexa, returning her own smile.

-

Clarke thought she might pass out when the brunette smiled. Though initially upset about not rooming with Raven, Clarke wasn’t concerned by it anymore as she squeezed the wad of silly string like a stress ball. Lexa was strikingly beautiful, and it caught her entirely off-guard. The thing is, Clarke never thought much about her sexuality, until now. _Right now_. She couldn't care less about the half-dozen of guys or so she’s kissed before and wanted to smash lips with the gorgeous brunette this very instant.

Desperately maintaining her cool, Clarke backs towards the door, “Sorry, again. I won’t barge in- again-” stuttering a bit.

“You can barge in anytime,” replies Lexa, completely astounded at herself at the forwardness of her words. _What was she thinking?_ She was definitely going to scare this girl.

Clarke answers unexpectedly, “I’ll remember that… Are you sure? You might find yourself sorry.”

Clarke had no idea what she was saying.

“I’m sure I won’t.”

Lexa resists the urge to roll her eyes at herself, she had no clue where these suggestive responses were coming from. A buried confidence she knew she had, but never used in this way.

Clarke chokes as she opens the door, eyeing Raven like a lifeline to come with her.

“See you at orientation,” Clarke quickly blurts, feeling more edgy as time passed with the brunette before her. 

Peeling out the door without taking her eyes off Lexa, Clarke finally takes a breath she didn’t even know she was holding and walks briskly down the hall to her room with Raven.  

“You might find yourself sorry? What the hell is that supposed to mean Clarke,” asks Raven, witness to their encounter.

“Oh I don’t know, I couldn’t think of anything to say. I got all… nervous.”

“Nervous? Since when did you like girls?”

“Since five minutes ago apparently! God she’s hot,” tilting her head back in emphasis.

Raven shrugs nonchalantly.

“Whatever floats your boat, Grif. I’ll ship ‘Clexa’,” Raven replies with an exaggerated wink.

 

∞

 

By the time Lexa has most of her clothes put away, it’s time to head towards orientation.

Stepping into the clubhouse, Lexa unintentionally scans for blonde spotting Clarke in the far back corner row of folding chairs next to Raven. Thank goodness they don’t make eye contact, already feeling her stomach twist like a thousand caterpillars simultaneously morphing into butterflies, Lexa begins to wander to the opposite side of the room until she hears her name.

“Lexa!” Raven shouts, “Over here!” and waves.

Clarke smacks Raven in the shoulder and Lexa witnesses their light squabble from afar.

“What the hell Raven?!” Clarke says through a clenched jaw, feeling blood rush into her cheeks as Lexa neared.

“What? I said I’d ship it, just trying to help you out.”

“Too soon! Way too soon. How do we even know she likes girls?”

“Who cares? You’re Clarke Griffin remember? Everybody wants to be with Clarke Griffin,” Raven says with a mocking tone.

Clarke rolls her eyes so far back she thought they might get stuck, “Oh will you stop that!”

Normally maintaining a cool demeanor, Clarke had all the confidence in the world as one of the best players at their high school, but kept a very modest attitude. A star power forward positioned at center, Clarke quickly earned her title as the school’s record scorer the moment she stepped foot on ice as a freshman. 16 and entering her junior year, Clarke was undoubtedly destined for one of the top colleges in women’s hockey with the Olympics on the foreseeable horizon.

This didn’t go unnoticed as Clarke’s athleticism combined with her intelligence and kindness put her on an unwanted pedestal that had everyone at school pining after her. While she dated, Clarke was actually a little shy and had not done much beyond kissing boys and groping atop clothes. Though no one but her best friend knew this about her, Clarke masked her apprehension well and didn’t play into the school rumors – that she had slept with multiple guys and left their heart’s broken. More accurately, she didn’t want to sleep with them, which left them heartbroken. She definitely liked boys, but Clarke just did not feel ready and couldn't care less about what others thought about her.

“Oh my god, she’s almost here. Act normal,” whispers Clarke as she snaps into a strict forward posture.

Raven begins to chuckle, it was quite humorous to see Clarke in such a panic. Clarke never panicked, about anything, ever.

Snaking in past a few other girls, Lexa reaches Clarke and Raven.

“Hey Raven, Clarke.”

Clarke turns, “Oh hey Lexa, I didn’t see you.”

This time, it’s Raven who rolls her eyes, but still delightfully amused at Clarke’s frazzled state.

Lexa begins to take a seat next to Raven.

“Oh, you should sit next to Clarke, this chair’s broken,” Raven lies.

Clarke gives Raven a hard nudge with her elbow and wide eyed look. But it was too good to pass up as Raven continued to use her best friend for her own entertainment.

“Um.. okay…” replies Lexa skeptically, now stepping past Raven and even more awkwardly, making contact with Clarke’s knees in an innocent straddle to get to the seat next to Clarke.

As Lexa strides over her, Clarke felt her jaw drop when she’s faced with Lexa’s crotch less than a foot away. Not like she knew what to do, at all, yet somehow awestruck until Raven quickly reaches over and closes her jaw for her.

-

Taking her seat, Lexa wasn’t quite sure what was going on with Clarke and Raven, but didn’t give it much thought when she sat down and her bare right thigh pressed against Clarke’s left.

August temperatures in St. Cloud ranged in the 80’s, so both girls are wearing some form of athletic shorts.

Clarke scoots a little closer to Raven at the sensation, clearing her throat, “Sorry.”

“Sorry,” Lexa echoes, bringing her own knee in.

Both girls pretend to focus their attention forward as orientation begins.

Lexa lets her gaze drift down and across at Clarke, taking in what she could from her peripheral. Smooth pastel skin below Clarke’s shorts, soft but athletic looking hands, likely from weight lifting and other off-ice training that came with playing high level hockey, to sparkly golden waves that rested on Clarke’s shoulder. Lexa started to turn her head, hoping to see more of Clarke’s pretty face when she catches an oval of blue look in her direction.

Sure enough, Clarke was staring back, peering over a Lexa’s chocolate curls that sat past her chest, slender, but strong frame from years of hockey training – skating and agility drills evident from the teardrop of a quad muscle that snuck past the end of Lexa’s shorts.

Clarke’s mouth goes dry and she begins to choke.

“Are you okay?” Lexa immediately turns to ask.

Though Clarke is nodding vehemently, she’s still coughing and Lexa reaches for her bottle of water, offering it to Clarke.

“Thanks,” Clarke manages say after a few sips.

Handing the bottle back, Lexa’s hand grazes over hers at the exchange and Clarke begins to choke all over again, pulling the bottle back.

“Why don’t you just keep it,” Lexa offers, and Clarke manages a nod as Raven smacks her best friend the back a few times.

“You okay Grif?”

Clearing her throat, “I’m fine,” replies Clarke.

Somehow, Clarke makes it though without choking again, though her throat felt continuously dry no matter how much water she drank, finishing the entire bottle Lexa gave her. Except now she has to pee and she wondered how much longer the presentation was going to be. 

Tapping her right leg to mediate her uncomfortably full bladder, Raven notices, “Stop shaking your leg Grif, what’s the matter with you?”

Clarke leans back over, whispering, “Ugh, I have to pee so bad.”

“Then get up and go pee.”

Because that only made too much sense.

Standing up, Clarke moves to step over her best friend, except Raven kicks up her feet, forcing Clarke to go the other way.

“Raven!” Clarke grunts under her breath, but Raven just ignores her with a smug grin. 

Going the other way, Clarke touches knee to knee with Lexa, again, making eye contact as she passes, “Uhh… excuse me.”

Lexa nods, scooting back but then shoots Clarke a smile so stunning it mesmerizes Clarke, causing her to trip directly onto Lexa’s lap.

“Oh god!” Clarke stumbles, face plowing into Lexa with arms stretched out only to land onto Lexa’s shoulders, chests pressing, and brushing cheek to cheek,  “I’m…sorry- so sorry,” Clarke stutters.

The slight commotion causes some of the girls to look back, Clarke never felt so embarrassed in her life. And Raven, Raven is now looking the complete opposite way, hiding her laugh.

“It’s okay,” Lexa reacts kindly, and gently puts her hands on Clarke’s hips to push her back up.

The moment Lexa put her hands on her hips, Clarke felt all the oxygen escape out of her lungs, forgetting how to breathe as a jolt of sensation shot through her body. Clarke couldn’t even register what was happening, mind swimming in a pool of green. She was frozen, standing completely still until Lexa says her name. 

“Clarke?”

“Huh?”

“Uh… you’re standing right in front of me… I can’t see.”

“Oh,” Clarke finally snaps out of her reverie, shuffling her feet to avoid tripping again and making her way quickly to the bathroom.

Emptying what felt like a gallon in her bladder, Clarke rinses her face after washing her hands to gather her thoughts _. What the hell was happening?_ She had ever been so dumbfounded in her life. Reeling in the line, Clarke was determined not to let herself fall into such a stupor again. Reciting as she looked into the mirror, “Just be yourself, just be yourself, just be yourself.”

Ripping the paper towel and drying her hands, Clarke’s still repeating the words, attention focused on the floor when she reaches for the restroom handle only to have the door open in on her.

“Holy shit, just be yourself!!” Clarke shouts as she finds herself in front of Lexa, almost mortified.

Lexa’s a little startled by Clarke’s outcry, giving the blonde a slightly perplexed look as the bathroom door thuds softly behind them.

“Uh…uh… excuse me,” Clarke blurts, bolting past Lexa, which was definitely NOT like Clarke at all, unable to formulate words and apparently forgetting more and more of the English language each time she saw Lexa’s pretty face.

-

Lexa was a little upset when Clarke left the bathroom so abruptly, though Lexa wasn’t sure what she was looking for when she entered, just a constant tug to be near Clarke.

It was overwhelming when Clarke tripped onto her lap, Lexa’s breath hitched when Clarke’s cheek brushed her own and a notable tremble in her body when Clarke’s puff of exhaled air breezed by her ear. As unfamiliar as it was, Lexa had never had a girl on her lap, accidental or not, she definitely liked it.

Feeling guilty and kind of creepy for taking pleasure in Clarke’s fall, no matter how small, Lexa quickly and as innocently as possible, put her hands on the blonde’s hips to guide her off. Except Clarke continued to stand in front of her and Lexa felt her eyes wander down Clarke’s neck, over the swell of her breasts, past her stomach and settling at Clarke’s crotch. Lexa began to wonder what touching Clarke would feel like.

Realizing Clarke was still standing mind-numbingly in front, Lexa broke out of her trance. “Uh…you’re standing right in front of me…I can’t see.”

Lexa let her eyes follow as Clarke made her way to the bathroom until she’s interrupted by the rest of the girls getting up out of their seats. She hadn’t been paying a single drop of attention as they begin to shuffle and rearrange the folding chairs.

“Raven, what’s going on?” 

“Reassembling the chairs to face each other, two by two, some ice breaking game.”


	2. Spaghetti

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know many are awaiting this update. Sorry, I've been sidetracked by several new WIPS including one for ClexaWeek2018!
> 
> I do surely hope the chapter length makes up for the wait, enjoy!

Exiting the bathroom, Clarke heads straight to Raven for refuge.

“Oh my god, Raven. This is beyond embarrassing, I just yelled ‘just be yourself’ at Lexa while leaving the bathroom.”

Raven begins to laugh. Right when she thought it couldn’t get any better, Clarke was self-destructing.

“I’m serious Rae, how the hell am I supposed to make it through the next two weeks?”

Shrugging, “Just be yourself, Grif,” Raven quips.

“You are the worst, best friend,” looking around at the new chair arrangement, “What are we doing?”

“Icebreaker, coach said it’s called speed meeting?”

“What? Like speed dating?!”

“I guess.”

“OMG, that is the last thing I need!”

“Well, at least there are some topics,” Raven mitigates, pointing at the white board.

_Speed Meeting – Topic Ideas_

  1. _Name_
  2. _High school_
  3. _Favorite color_
  4. _Favorite NHL Team_
  5. _Favorite player_
  6. _Favorite TV show_
  7. _Favorite food_
  8. _Favorite band_
  9. _Favorite movie_
  10. _Favorite actor/actress_



“Okay! Everybody gather around!” yells the main camp coach, Coach Jason Richote, a middle aged dark haired man with a deep Canadian accent from Toronto.

Coach Jason continues, “As you can see, we’re playing an ice breaker called Speed Meeting. Now I know some of you girls already know each other from years past, but that’s not the point. We’re here to get to know everyone. So, you all have one minute, one minute, to learn as much as possible about the person across from you. I’ll whistle at the end of the minute with 15 seconds to rotate seats and I’ll start the time again. Understand?”

The crowd nods and mumbles, “Yeah” all around as they take random seats.

“I’ve listed ten topics up here, but those are just some recommendations. Now let’s get started!”

Clarke takes hold of Raven’s hand and drags her to a pair of chairs.

“I don’t know if I can do this Raven. A whole minute! What am I supposed to say?”

“Don’t worry, I have a plan,” Raven replies.

“A plan?”

“Yeah, I’ll make sure I sit with her first… and I’ll just ask her for you.”

“What?! No! Wait, ask her what?”

“If she… you know, likes you?”

“Don’t do that! It’s going to be so obvious!”

“Clarke, I think it’s already obvious. Have you seen yourself? I’d pay serious money to see you so tousled again.”

“Shut up, that’s not funny! Oh gosh, what if she says no?!”

“Nah, I don’t think so. Look at the way she looks at you. Serious heart eyes yo.”

“What? What the fuck are heart eyes?”

“You know, when someone conveys to you they want to fuck you with just their eyes. Like this,” Raven deepens her look, and raises her eyebrows at Clarke.

Just as Raven feigns her flirtatious look, Lexa glances over and witnesses the peculiar interaction. It made her wonder if Clarke and Raven had a thing.

“See, just like that,” says Raven, “How do you think I got Finn?”

Clarke rolls her eyes, “Honesty, I’d like to think higher of my best friend, because you’re the smartest person I know?”

“Thanks dude, but serious, you need to practice your heart eyes. Try it on me!”

“What!? No, that’s weird!”

“Just, it’s me! Just try it!”

Clarke darts her eyes for a second before returning them to her best friend. Huffing, she does a single quirk of an eyebrow followed naturally by a very subtle, but meaningful wink.

And sure enough, again, Lexa looks over and catches Clarke’s wink at Raven. A _re they flirting?_

“Oh, I like the wink!” Raven, “That’s good, super good. Now I’ll go and ask her, and when you get to her, just shoot her that look! Perfect!”

A loud whistle breaks their conversation.

“Switch!”

“Seriously, it’s already been a minute? Just, tell me how you’re going to start the convo?”

“Don’t worry! I got you Grif,” replies Raven, flashing a set of finger guns before getting up and heading towards Lexa.

Raven sneaks into the chair across from Lexa just as another girl is about to sit down, shoving her butt on the seat first like a game of musical chairs. The girl gives Raven a rude look, “Um… okay…” and proceeds to wander to a different seat.

“So Lex, we’re roommates, I think we can skip all the superficial stuff. You gotta boyfriend?”

Lexa’s taken slightly aback, “Uh, I’m… sorry, but what?”

“You know, boyfriend? Somebody you kiss, hug, and snuggle with?”

Lexa was feeling evermore embarrassed, she had never kissed, hugged, or snuggled with _anyone_ that way.

“Um… aren’t we supposed to stick with the writing topics?” eyeing the board.

“Those are just suggestions, we’re supposed to get to know each other, right?”

“….Right…”

“Well, how about I start. I have a boyfriend, his name is Finn. He’s charming, has brown hair, long and wavy – perfect hockey hair, got the flow going on under his helmet. So yes, he plays too. Now, you go.”

“Uhh….no,” Lexa says timidly, “I don’t have a…boyfriend.”

“That’s cool,” and Raven immediate jumps, “Girlfriend?”

Lexa just stares; she really didn’t want to answer Raven’s question, not because she was afraid of coming out, but again, more because she had never been with anybody before.

“Cause I’m cool with it. Like, super cool,” spouts Raven, she was going a million miles a minute, “So cool with it. You know what, I don’t tell a lot of people this, but I think we have a real roommate connection going on and I’d def go gay for some Charlize Theron. You like Charlize Theron? Hey, that’s one of the topics.”

“Umm… yeah… she’s…she’s cool.”

“Great, cause you know who kinda looks like her? Blonde hair and shit.”

Lexa had no idea where Raven was going and a little worried that _this_ was her roommate for the next two weeks.

“Clarke,” says Raven.

“Clarke?”

“Yeah, don’t you think Clarke kinda looks like her. She’s pretty, right?”

Taking a brief looks at Clarke, who was yes, _very_ pretty, Lexa was at a loss of words. Feeling more pressed than being cornered with the puck on ice in her own defensive zone. Raven doesn’t relent.

“So what do you think of Clarke?”

“Um…. She seems… nice…”

“Just nice? She’s got amazing blue eyes and great smile. Very likeable, what do you think?”

Lexa was starting to think that Raven was trying to confess her own love for Clarke to her. She wasn’t sure why, maybe because she was Raven’s roommate? Or maybe, Raven _knew_ … Lexa didn’t think she dressed too differently from the other girls. Could someone really tell from a t-shirt and mesh shorts? Lexa had heard about the “gaydar,” but had no idea how it worked or how someone possessed it.

“Uh, do _you_ like Clarke?” Lexa moves to clarify.

“What? No, I have a boyfriend, remember?”

“Then, what about those looks you were shooting each other over there…”

“Oh shit, you saw that?! It’s not what it seems, it really isn’t!”

Lexa was somehow spinning the conversation.

“Well, you sure think highly of Clarke if you idolize her next to your favorite actress you’d go gay for…”

“What? That’s not what this is about,” trails Ravens and attempts to salvage the conversation with her initial plans that’d gone awry, “We were practicing!”

“Practicing?”

“Yeah...”

“Practicing for…”

“Uhh…” Raven didn’t know how to answer, but saved by the whistle.

Raven leaps off the seat as quickly as she sat down, dashing to Clarke.

“So Rae, how’d it go?”

“Uh, I think I might have just unintentionally come out to Lexa in the weirdest way possible, and she thinks that I’m in love with you.”

“What?! What the hell Rae?! Does she even like girls?”

“Um… I didn’t get an answer for that…”

“Oh my god, you suck!”

“She did say Charlize Theron was cool and I said you kinda look like her.”

“Charlize Theron?! She looked like fucking shit in that movie!”

“Wait, what? She’s gorgeous. What movie?”

“Monster!”

“Oh my god, that was _her!_ Wow, I had no idea.”

“How did you not know that?! She won an award for that part.”

“Uh, I dunno. I don’t really follow her that much… I was just trying to think of a blonde haired actress to compare you to and she was the first one who came to mind.”

“Okay, then you just successfully compared me a murderous hooker turned lesbian. Great. Lexa’s going to think I want to kill her! Cut her throat in the middle of the night!”

Before Clarke and Raven can continue, Coach Jason notices they’re sitting across from each other, again.

“Hey ladies! No repeats, the point is to sit with people you _don’t_ know and haven’t already spoken with. ”

Pointing at Clarke, “You, switch with her.”

And to Clarke’s misfortune, or maybe it was a stroke of fortune, he points to the girl sitting across from Lexa. Clarke’s eyes go wide with fear as she reluctantly gets up.

Sliding onto the seat across from Lexa, Clarke feels her shoulders slump in anxiety, stomach slosh, and palms sweat.

“Hey…” says Clarke shyly, producing a small wave. No way was Clarke going to be able to muster a set of heart eyes, an unachievable feat at this distance from Lexa.

“Hey, Clarke,” Lexa replies.

As their minute begins, both are too apprehensive to start the conversation, batting shy glances at each other and darting eyes while hiding the smirks on their face.

“Did you want to go over-”

“Who’s your favorite-”

They both speak at the same time, interrupting each other.

 “Uh – why don’t you go first?” says Lexa.

“Uh, you go…”

“No…you go…”

Exhaling with small chuckles, they’re both again at a loss of words. But their eyes have connected in the process; pupils adjusting to the sight before them. They slowly feel droplets of confidence surface and able to hold each other’s gaze longer with the passing seconds, acclimating to the silence and spending time to study the other. Demeanor. Smirks. Lips…

A whistle startles them both out of their shared reverie. Their minute was over and though little was said, felt mysteriously closer.

Clarke and Lexa complete the remainder of the ice breaker without much interest, simply going through the motions and pretending to listen to the girl across while they continued to sneak glimpses at each other from across the room.

Finally, orientation comes to an end and its dinner time as the group meanders to the cafeteria.

∞

Taking her tray of food, spaghetti, a bowl of salad, bread, and a cup of pudding, Lexa turns to find Clarke in the mix of tables.

They had both mentally kept track of each other since the ice breaker, and easily spot one another from across the cafeteria.

Feeling a little more like herself, Clarke gives Lexa a slight nod, a subtle invite to come sit with her among Raven and two other girls, Octavia and Harper.

 Lexa slides into the vacant seat next to Clarke on the bench, giddy at their proximity, though not touching.

“Hey, Lexa right?” says Octavia.

“Yeah, Octavia… and Harper?” Lexa addresses the two other girls, surprisingly able to recall their names from the ice breaker with full knowledge that her mind was completely on Clarke.

Octavia and Harper nod at their names.

“So you’ve been playing long?” asks Harper.

Lexa shrugs, “As long as I can remember, my dad’s a big hockey fan and took me skating as soon as I was able to walk.”

“Oh, so you’re probably pretty good then?” Octavia assumes. 

“I’m… decent.”

Octavia didn’t assume incorrectly, Lexa was being entirely too modest. Not only was Lexa the lead defender at her school, but the lead _scoring_ defender in the greater DC region with multiply offers from the best D1 East Coast schools including Boston College, Cornell and Harvard. Nevertheless, she didn’t want to come off conceited in front of Clarke and omits the information.

“What position do you play?” Octavia continues.

“D,” replies Lexa.

“I play defense too,” Harper chimes in.

“I play forward, right wing,” Octavia bounces back as they automatically go around the table.

“Left wing,” Raven interjects.

Lexa looks to Clarke, the most important of them all.

“Forward, also…” says Clarke quietly.

“Oh c’mon Clarke,” Raven blabs, “Clarke’s our star center. She’s the best one here year after year, what colleges were those scouts from?”

Clarke shakes her head, shooting a glare at Raven. Clarke was modest as well and the last thing she’d wanted was to look like an arrogant hot shot in front of Lexa.

“What schools Clarke?” Lexa’s curiosity sparked.

“Oh, just some of local state schools,” replies Clarke, _significantly_ down playing her existing offers from both Minnesota and Minnesota-Duluth, two schools constantly at the top of Women’s Division 1 hockey in the US.

The girls continue to eat their dinner with light conversation flowing, Clarke and Lexa interjecting every now and then, but mostly when prompted.

“Mm, sorry,” Lexa apologizes as she twirls the spaghetti onto her fork, inadvertently bumping elbows with Clarke doing the same thing.

“Sorry,” Clarke mirrors, “I… should have sat at the end of the table, almost everybody here knows I’m a leftie and don’t sit to my left.”

In response, Lexa playfully knocks Clarke’s left elbow with her right, “I don’t mind sitting to your left.”

It generates a smile from the blonde and Lexa wondered what she else could do to earn another smile from Clarke’s face. Lexa’s heart skips several beats when Clarke returns the gesture with an added lean, bumping Lexa’s elbow and rubbing shoulders.

Radiating heat from Clarke’s shoulder seem to transfer and crawl up Lexa’s neck, causing her to choke. Coughing the spaghetti that had gone down the wrong pipe, an immensely uncomfortable sensation, Lexa reaches for the cup of water. She feels Clarke lean away, shoulder disappearing and finally Lexa takes a single, catching breath. But, then Clarke puts down her fork and exacerbates the situation by placing her hand on Lexa’s back, _rubbing._

This causes Lexa to choke on her water, spitting into the air in a violent cough that has the whole table backing up. Clarke only rubs harder, patting and lightly brushing the back of Lexa’s bare neck in an effort to ease. But it only intensifies the situation as fingertips sent chills down Lexa’s spine.

Lexa thought surely this was going to be her undoing, death by Clarke’s touch, with the help of spaghetti. She could see the local newspaper headlines.

“Are you okay Lexa?” Clarke asks genuinely.

Lexa really could _not_ breathe, scooting away from Clarke quite frankly because she couldn’t bear her touch anymore. Lungs burning for air, Lexa stands up with a few steps back and finally takes a long breathe, but still coughing vehemently and triggering the entire cafeteria to look in her direction. Lexa was not easily embarrassed and this was probably the most humiliated she had ever been.

She watches in horror as Clarke gets up, arms reaching out, “Lexa? Can you breathe? Do you need me to give you the Heimlich maneuver? My mom’s a doctor, I know how,” Clarke says in all seriousness.

If Clarke made contact and wrapped her arms around her waist, Lexa absolutely knew she’d drop dead.

Putting a hand up in surrender and shaking her head, Lexa backs up in desperation to stay alive, and barely exhales the words, “I’m good.” Cough. “I’m good Clarke.” Cough. “It’s okay.”

Lexa is relieved when Clarke nods, slowly backing away and sitting down. Clearing her throat, Lexa returns to her seat, now sitting several inches away from her apparent source of death.

Appetite lost, Lexa didn’t feel like finishing her meal and turns to her cup of pudding. Chocolate.

Chocolate was fine, but Lexa was more of a vanilla person, eyeing the couple of vanillas on the table including Clarke’s.

Clarke must have read her mind… or something.

“Aw, you have chocolate, want to trade?” says Clarke, grabbing hers and offering it to Lexa.

Letting a curl overtake her lips, Lexa nods and swaps pudding cups with Clarke.

-

Clarke felt a satisfying grin stretch across her face when Lexa was willing to swap, fearing that she might have overstepped when Lexa was choking. Clarke _really_ was concerned, but also felt excited at the prospect of perhaps wrapping her arms around Lexa’s waist, eager to essentially hug Lexa with the Heimlich maneuver. Though Clarke wasn’t intending deceit, her mother really was a doctor and annual first aid and CPR classes were basically mandatory for Clarke.

Popping open her pudding cup, Clarke spoons into the smooth chocolate treat and places it in her mouth. Oddly feeling a set of eyes on her, Clarke peers to her left, Lexa with a spoon of her own in her mouth, they meet eyes.

Flicking her eyes down, Clarke watches in slight awe as Lexa draws the spoon out past her soft looking lips and yearned to know what it was like to be that spoon. Clarke pulls her own spoon out of her mouth, swallowing the thick portion in a mindless gulp, transfixed on plush lips. Her jaw goes slack when she watches Lexa’s tongue push past to lick the corner of her mouth, Clarke wanted to meet it with her own.

“Clarke!”

Startled, Clarke turns to her right, “What!?”

“So what do you think?” asks Raven.

“Huh? About what?”

“Did you hear anything I just said?”

_No._

“Uh…”

“What do you want to do tonight? Hang out at the clubhouse or floorball?”

Evening activities were contained on campus with many of the girls carless. The most common location, the clubhouse, stocked with a couple of ping-pong tables, a foosball table, small selection of board games, community TV and couches. And the secondary, despite the warning sign painted on the walls, was floorball down the residential hallway which consisted of hockey sticks and a simple tennis ball.

∞

Lexa watches as Raven tosses the tennis ball at Clarke standing opposite of her in the hallway.

“Show me whatcha got Grif!”

The objective was simple, stickhandle the tennis ball past your opponent. Seemed easy, but made difficult with the narrow hallway along with “house rules” that Lexa picked on while watching the first round between Harper and Octavia. They played to 21 and the ball needed to make it past the opponent _clean_ , without being touched. Otherwise, it was a turnover.

Watching Clarke start, Lexa could tell Clarke was quick, dribbling the tennis ball with light touches along her left curved hockey stick, Easton branded. Driving down the hallway, Clarke deceptively taps the ball between Raven’s legs and sneaks past, completely untouched.

“Aw man!” Raven cries, “Five hole, every time Grif!”

In hockey, there are five main scoring targets on the rectangular goal, the four corners and lastly, the fifth hole between the goalie’s legs known as the “five hole.”

“One nothing Reyes,” Clarke announces and starts again.

Stickhandling forward, this time Clarke pops the tennis ball up and over Raven, glides past and snatches it out of the air with her left hand.

“Two nothing.”

-

Lexa crosses her arms and leans back against the frame of her door, fully entertained. Clarke was smooth, fast, and most impressively, deceptive. Never using the same move twice that had Lexa on her toes even though she wasn’t playing. Wondering- if this is Clarke on foot down a narrow hallway with a tennis ball, she must be phenomenal on ice, given room to skate and go wide.

“That’s game Reyes, 21-7,” Clarke announces.

“Alright,” Raven slumps playfully, and holds up the tennis ball, “Who’s next?”

Raven eyes Lexa, offering her the ball.

Lexa was about to decline, feeling timid until she hears the challenge from Clarke.

“C’mon Lexa, afraid to lose?”

Taking Clarke up on the challenge, Lexa reaches for her stick propped just on the inside of the door, “No, not at all,” she replies, stepping out into the hallway.

Raven tosses Lexa the ball, easily catching and feeling her confidence rise, Lexa throws it in Clarke’s direction.

“Ladies first,” she jeers.

Clarke narrows her eyes, feeling as if Lexa just sent a pick up line along with the tennis ball. Shaking it off, Clarke replies, “Fine, if you want to put yourself at a disadvantage.”

Though Lexa was sure she had the advantage, given the opportunity to observe Clarke, Lexa, a natural defender, was able to formulate several tactics. Plus, Clarke had never seen her play, Lexa held the benefit of surprise.

Leaning forward and bending her knees slightly, Lexa prepares herself for Clarke’s approach. Instead of focusing on Clarke’s stickhandling and ball, Lexa keeps her eyes on Clarke.

As Clarke neared, she follows her blue eyes, searching for the blonde’s intent. Sure enough, Clarke goes to flick the ball overhead and Lexa snatches it out of the air with her hand.

“Ooooo!” the peanut gallery make themselves known.

“That’s a touch! Lexa’s ball,” Raven announces like an official scorekeeper.

Lexa didn’t have fancy dekes, though capable, wasn’t her style and always focused on speed and technique. Except she didn’t have the room to speed around Clarke and resolved to Clarke’s method.

Pressing forward, Lexa goes to tap the ball between Clarke’s legs, five-hole like Clarke had Raven. Clarke was quick, moving her foot in place and stopping the ball’s progression.

“Touch! Clarke’s ball.”

Clarke and Lexa look at each other with playful competition in their eyes.

“My own moves won’t work against me.”

“They won’t against me either,” Lexa contests.

Clarke sneers, “Oh, you’re on now.”

Walking back to the end of the hallway, Clarke shifts gears and picks up her pace. Stickhandling towards Lexa, Clarke spins just before Lexa’s reach, popping the ball against the wall to her left but turning to her right and making it past Lexa. A new move.

“Oh shit! Griffin’s laying it on!” Octavia yells.

“One-zip, Grif!” Raven tracks.

“Hm, thought you said my moves didn’t work?” Clarke banters.

Lexa’s eyes dim. _Dammit._

“Just, go, Clarke.”

Stepping up her own game, Lexa stops Clarke dead in her tracks the second time, poking the ball out of Clarke’s possession before Clarke could even begin a move.

“Touch! Lexa’s ball!”

This time, as Lexa drives towards Clarke, she stops abruptly and lifts her stick high, like a bat, gearing up for a slap shot. Just before her stick makes contact, she pops the ball softly up and it rainbows over Clarke as Lexa snakes by.

“Ah’s” and “O’s” echo down the hall.

“One-one, tie!”

Lexa grins, “I thought you said your own tricks don’t work on you?”

“Shut up and go,” Clarke replies lightheartedly.

For the next thirty minutes, neither score, and Clarke and Lexa begin to break a sweat. More girls have gathered from camp, quite possibly all the girls to watch their epic battle. The competition has gotten more physical in their desperate state, both girls begin to play the body, shouldering, leaning and pressing each other into the wall to stop each other’s advance.

Girls start to throw bets, the raucous rings down the hallway and out open windows like an underground fight club.  

“Another dollar Griffin gets to five first!”

Somehow, 21 points had become an unrealistic number and dialed down to five. Five measly points. They were still tied at one.

“Two more dollars for Lexa!”

“Anybody else!? I have a total of 27 dollars on Clarke and also 27 for Lex!” Raven counts, scorekeeper turned betting agent, “Okay, all bets are in. Griffin’s ball. Set, go!”

Clarke’s not sure what numbered attempt she’s on, moves dwindled, she succumbs to sheer power. Clarke pulls her stick back for a slap shot with full intent to follow through. Raising her stick and smacking the tennis ball at Lexa, the brunette ducks as the ball sails down the end of the hallway and is caught. By Coach Jason.

“What is going on here ladies!? Its past 10pm, supposed to be lights out!”

Girls dissipate instantaneously, scatter like cockroaches when you flip on a light. All but Clarke and Lexa remain at the hallway, leaning in their sticks and droplets of sweat on their brow.

“Uh-oh.”

Coach Jason approaches, tennis ball in hand and proceeds to point at the wall, “What, does that say?”

Clarke and Lexa swallow, responding together, “No… No floorball, Coach.”

“No floorball. Now,” he changes his tone slightly, “Seems like I have my two scrimmage Captains already picked out for me.” Coach Jason had been watching, for a while, “I expect the same hard work and determination for the rest of camp,” he finishes and tosses the ball up in the air, giving it back to them.

Reaching out to receive, the ball lands in Lexa’s hand just before Clarke’s. Clarke’s left palm results in cupping the back of Lexa’s right hand.

Lexa’s breath hitches at the contact, meeting Clarke’s blue eyes she’d been drilling into for the past half hour. Slowly rotating her wrist, Lexa places the ball in Clarke’s outstretched hand.

“Call it a draw?” says Lexa.

“A draw,” Clarke settles, taking the tennis ball, “Goodnight, Lexa,” says Clarke, parting for the evening with a light smile.

“Night,” Lexa replies with a smile of her own, “See you on the ice tomorrow morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grab your notepad.  
> Hockey Terminology 101 recap:
> 
> 1\. Sticks are curved left or right, depending if the player is left handed or right handed. A crucial thing to know about your teammates and opponents when on the ice. 
> 
> 2\. There are five primary scoring areas on the net, the four corners (top left, bottom left, top right, bottom right) and the fifth hole, between the goalie's legs, aka "five-hole." 
> 
> 3\. Deceptive hockey "moves" are also called "dekes".


	3. On Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get to see Clarke and Lexa go face-to-face their first morning on ice!
> 
> Literally, face-to-face... almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! And we're back on the ice! Thanks for waiting! 
> 
> Which, btw, do people prefer I finish one entire story first or working on all three of my WIPS simultaneous with weekly-ish updates?

 "Does anybody have any tape?” Clarke shouts into the locker room as the girls change.

On-ice training starts at 8 am and current time, 7:47 am.

“I do,” Lexa immediately responds, already hyperaware of where Clarke sat and her state of dress, partially in gear from waist down, but t-shirt above.

Making eye contact with Lexa at her two o’clock, Clarke snatches the roll of clear tape Lexa tosses in her direction.

“Thanks,” replies Clarke with a shy smirk as she proceeds to reinforce her socks and left shin pad with clear, hockey tape, going around her upper shin twice before cutting the tape diagonally across for one pass just above her ankles.

“Didn’t you get new skates for your birthday?” Raven asks, sitting beside Clarke.

Clarke looks down at her skates from the season, predominantly black colored, Bauer branded and essentially, beaten to shit; laces frayed, eyelets worn, cuts along the toe-box, both tongues half ripped and escaping underneath the end of Clarke’s shin pads.

“Yeah,” Clarke responds casually while securing her other shin pad, “but no way am I breaking in new skates here. They’re going to be so stiff, blisters and skate-bite, no thanks.” Clarke looks up, finished with the tape, “Here you go Lexa,” and tosses the roll back at the brunette, stealing a split second of eye contact before paying her attention to the rest of her gear.

“Aw man, I’d kill to have new skates right now,” Raven replies, seemingly unaware of the game of eye-tennis Clarke and Lexa were playing, “My dad said probably not until Christmas, since I got these last Christmas,” Raven continues as she tightens her laces.

Clarke nods at her best friend, pretending to care. Well, she does care, but is incredibly distracted when Lexa pulls her shirt overhead. Clarke’s jaw goes slack; Lexa had a lithe frame and wasn’t overtly muscular at all, just generically fit, but _Christ_ did she look good shirtless in a black sports bra. And just as Clarke’s eyes drift up Lexa’s neck, Lexa catches her stare. Feeling her heart blip in embarrassment, Clarke quickly darts her eyes down and hurriedly reaches for her shoulder pads.

Avoiding another look in Lexa’s direction for the remainder, Clarke finishes putting on her gear in haste; shoulder pads, elbow pads, white jersey numbered “13” with “Griffin” stitched across the back, caged helmet and gloves.

“Alright, I’m done. See you out there,” Clarke says to Raven, feeling the need to scurry away.

Raven shoots a confused look at her best friend, “Woah, I look down for two seconds and you’re done getting dressed? What’s it to ya Supergirl?”

“Nothing,” Clarke automatically replies, standing. She steps over the gear bags that litter the center of the locker room floor, grabs both her sticks – a primary and backup, and proceeds swiftly out the door.

Clarke is one of the first out the locker room, the two girls prior to her, both stretching on the floor and against the boards as they waited for the ice to open. Clarke remembers their faces from last year, along with their names from yesterday’s ice breaker. Sarah and Kaitlyn.

The rink is dim, main lights flickering and still warming up to its full lumens, and the ice refrigeration equipment, producing a steady hum like a vending machine. Thinking very little of stretching, Clarke walks her way over to the bench to wait, skate boots squeaking and metal blades lightly clicking along the rubber padded floor. It was always weird to be back in skates after a three month hiatus that was summer break. But, Clarke was used to it, season after season in this routine.

Placing her water bottle on the ledge and stowing her spare stick, instead of sitting on the bench, Clarke hops up onto the boards with feet dangling over the ice, as if she were on a pier or dock over water. Letting her mind wander, the image of shirtless Lexa returns. Clarke had _no idea_ what she wanted to do, or even how to do it, but simply fantasized about the basic image of Lexa’s body.

Hearing a ruffle behind her, Clarke ignores it and assumed it was either Sarah or Kaitlyn, migrating over from their stretching poses.

“Hey Clarke,” Lexa says behind her.

Clarke yelps. _Yelps,_ in an unexpected freight, “Ah!” and though Lexa wasn’t even close to touching her, falls over the edge of the boards and onto ice in a very ungraceful thump.

“Oh my gosh! Clarke!” Lexa peers over the edge at Clarke, flat on her back on the ice, “Are you alright?”

Just as Lexa said it, the lights pop on and Clarke feels as if she was standing in a spotlight, rolling over on her stomach and proceeding to get up on one knee.

“Griffin!”

While standing, Clarke looks in the direction at the sound of her name. It was Coach Jason, skating from across the ice from the far side entrance.

“Griffin, what are you doing on the ice? You know you’re not allowed unless I am, or one of the staff is on. Even if you’re just stretching.”

Clarke nods, “Yes, I know Coach. Sorry, I wasn’t stretching, I uh- I fell,” she says as Coach Jason stops right in front of her.

“You fell?” Jason replies with skepticism, Clarke was one of his top skaters, year after year and found it difficult to believe.

“Uh,” Clarke awkwardly looks at Lexa, the source of her loss of balance, “Yeah, I fell.”

“Okay,” Coach Jason lightly taps her shin pad with the end of his stick, “Just, be more careful, especially when no one’s on the ice.”

Nodding, Clarke rolls her eyes at herself as Coach Jason skates away to gather mini orange cones, obstacles, and a handheld whiteboard.

“Are you okay, Clarke?” Lexa asks again.

Returning her attention to the brunette, Lexa is also wearing a caged face mask, which somehow mitigated the intensity of their eye contact and Clarke was able regain some poise.

“Uh, yeah, fine. Thanks.”

“Sorry, I… didn’t mean to scare you?” Lexa replies, fully aware that her mention of Clarke’s name had startled the blonde, as lightly as she said it.

“Oh, no. You’re- you’re totally fine, I just…” _was thinking about you shirtless?_ “Just- nothing,” Clarke stutters a bit, gaze shifting in and out of focus within her face mask.

Lexa proceeds to take a seat on the boards, much like Clarke did earlier with feet dangling over. Clarke took a quick gander up and down Lexa in her gear, still appearing small, and almost nonthreatening. Lexa, resting quietly in her black jersey, number eight, in a slightly slumped posture and spinning her stick within her hands.

“So um, why number eight?” Clarke proceeds to make small talk.

“Oh,” Lexa looks down at her jersey, as simple as the question was, it was personal. Lexa’s age when her mother died. Though typically Lexa was prepared with a generic number story, didn’t feel the need to conceal the circumstance from Clarke, who held such a kind, honest, and nonjudgmental demeanor.

“It was, how old I was when my mother died,” Lexa says softly, but meets Clarke’s eyes without diffident.

Clarke’s eyes grow a little wide, unsuspecting, “Oh. Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t- I mean, it’s-”

“It’s fine,” Lexa gently interrupts, “I um, have another number story… if I didn’t feel like sharing.”

Clarke nods, feeling…oddly special, “Oh, umm… thanks.”

“What about you?” Lexa tilts her head, questioning Clarke’s choice for the number 13, “Not a lot of people where 13,” Lexa comments, generally perceived as an unlucky number.

Clarke furrows her brow. She had her own cover story, but, unlike Lexa, 13 wasn’t her age when her brother died, but the date. January third.

“Actually… it’s, the date my brother passed away, January third.”

Lexa eye’s reveal surprise and unexpected concern, “Oh… I’m sorry to hear that Clarke,” Lexa says with upmost sincerity.

Looking back up, Clarke meets Lexa’s eyes, yet again, holding a longer regard through the square holes of their face masks. Both, mere strangers, but with a very specific piece of information that cultivated a connection, deeper and more meaningful than most.

“Wud up party people!” Raven yells, approaching the bench.

It gives Clarke a split second to anticipate, immediately breaking eye contact from Lexa and diving for her water bottle. But, despite Clarke's natural quickness, she isn’t quick enough to dodge the stream of water Raven began squirting at her from a few feet away, wetting her jersey and lightly splashing onto her face.

“Aw fuck Rae!” Clarke turns her head away, but proceeds to blindly squeeze her water bottle in Raven’s general direction.  

“Gah!” Raven continues to squeeze the end of her water bottle at Clarke ducking on the ice, “For all that fucking silly string yesterday Griff! I told you I’d get you back!”

Reaching the end of her bottle, Raven relents, leaving Clarke chuckling as she takes off her helmet off to wipe her face dry across her shoulder.

Needless to say, though Clarke’s hair was messily tousled, but it’s paired with an absolutely gorgeous smile through her laughter, and Lexa can't look away.

Lexa doesn’t know if she’s crushed on a girl so hard before, especially one who isn’t an intangible celebrity or fictional character. Clarke, practically within an arms distance. Someone she could actually touch.

 _Tweet!_ The sound of Coach Jason’s whistle breaks Lexa out of her trance, realizing most of the girls had trickled out of locker room and time on the red score clock flashed 8:01.

“Let’s go ladies! On ice, gather around, gather around!” Coach Jason yells.

As the girls surround Coach Jason, some kneeling, some standing, he introduces the remaining staff; Lauren, the assistant coach with a specialty in power skating, Pierre, to focus on strength training and agility, and a couple others Coach Jason names as guests coaches to be making appearances throughout the next two weeks.

“Any questions?” Coach Jason gives the group a moment, “No questions? Okay, let’s start with a couple circles around the ice and line up in the corner for Russian circles!”

Russian circles, a very basic and general skating drill, essentially a name for skating figure eights around the ice, emphasizing a skater’s ability to cross over, left and right.

Starting their figure eights, the fast typically accelerate to the front of the line while those who were slower, drift back. And just like last year, and the years prior, Clarke leds the pack, speeding with strength in each crossover. Though, unlike the years past, when Clarke naturally pulled ahead over time, this time, someone was right on her heels. Lexa.

While Lexa’s skill last night during floor ball was certainly an indicator of how good a player she was, it didn’t nearly speak to how fast of a skater she was as well.

Lexa’s proximity behind Clarke pushed Clarke a tad harder than usual and by the time they were done with the drill, both girls were panting heavily as others trailed in behind.

“Fuck…” Clarke pants, and peers over at Lexa next to her, “Fuck, you’re fast. And you play defense? Shouldn’t someone like you be skating forward, pushing the play up?”

Lexa shakes her head, “No,” and with years of knowledge about her abilities and full awareness of her own tendencies, “I’m very reserved,” Lexa explains her positioning to Clarke.

“Switch!” Coach yells, “Now backwards!” and blows his whistle.

The girls take off, crossing over backwards and this time, instead of trailing Clarke, Lexa overtakes within her first few strides.

“And I skate faster backwards than forward,” Lexa says as she bypasses Clarke.

Backwards skating is undoubtedly an essential skill in ice hockey, but especially for defenders, and Lexa was as graceful as a figure skater. And, no matter how hard Clarke pushed off the toes of her skates, she could not catch up to Lexa, effortlessly gliding backwards, the gap between them becoming larger and larger until they reached the end of the drill, Clarke nearly stumbling as she stopped with legs starting to feel like Jello.

The remainder of the morning ice time is filled with additional skating drills- skating around cones, skating and hopping over barriers, single leg balanced skating, and more skating, skating, skating. Coach hadn’t even dumped a bucket of pucks out yet to play.

Both Clarke and Lexa kept mental track of each other on the ice, with roughly 30 girls in total attendance, it wasn’t difficult to pick each other out in the pack. Though, throughout the drills, neither had the exact timing to make eye contact again, as routinely as they looked in each other’s direction. Vision obscured through their masks and Lexa would be too busy skating during a drill to notice Clarke’s stare and vice versa.

 _Tweet!_ Coach Jason blew as their two-hour morning session came to an end with roughly 15 minutes remaining on the ice. All the girls were gassed- first day of training was always the most difficult as their summered couch potato bodies suffered to quickly acclimate to the sudden physical intensity. Sweat dripping from their foreheads and soaking jerseys, heaving large puffs of air that filled the ice rink, and skin itching from the sudden rise of temperature.

“Okay!” Coach began, “we have a solid idea of your abilities and will finish with a 15-minute scrimmage. Those who were assigned dark jerseys to my left, and those with light on my right.”

Slowly shuffling their skates and gliding in slow motion, the girl split and, Clarke and Lexa, as Coach had mentioned the night before, found themselves on opposite ends.

With the entire group reaching the end of their energy reserves, the scrimmages was, needless to say, slow. Nobody came busting out full force like a bull out of a cage, Clarke and Lexa included. _Everybody_ was reduced to just the motions of a casual game, too tired to care.

Too tired to care, except when Clarke found herself matched up against Lexa.

Skating ahead with the puck, Clarke kicks it into gear with intent to speed around Lexa for at least a shot on goal. Except Lexa closes the gap and pushes Clarke against the boards, smearing her momentum away. (This is a legal move in hockey sometimes called a “rub” or to get “rubbed out” against the boards.) Unexpectedly, Clarke losses possession of the puck and its turned over. She huffs in frustration as Lexa leans off, eyeing the brunette through her face mask, though both, equally fatigued.

Quickly turning around for a player change, Clarke is nudge by Raven, on her own team.

“Seriously Clarke? You’re gonna let her rub you out on the boards like that?” says Raven, but then turns her voice down to a very teasing and mocking tone, “or are you going to continue to let her ‘rub you out’,” Raven jokes.

Clarke rolls her eyes, “Shut up Rae, I didn’t think she’d close me off so quickly against the boards like that.”

They both approach the bench simultaneously, stopping and ready for a change. Shift lengths in hockey are short. The 30 seconds to a minute short.

“You’re up Kaitlyn,” Clarke announces to the girl she was switching with as she threw a leg over the boards and onto the bench.

“Obviously she’s faster than you backwards,” Raven says, plopping down on the bench next to Clarke, “Uh, can I have some of your water?”

Clarke reaches forward, grabbing her water bottle and tossing it at Raven with an added eye-roll at her best friend.

“I know, I know, I just figured she was tired,” Clarke replies, bouncing her legs up and down mostly to think of another tactic.

“Just bust out one of you deke or dangle moves on her,” Raven says nonchalantly and hands Clarke’s water bottle back, “thanks.”

“Yeah,” Clarke replies, taking the bottle and squirting some through her mask.

It’s been roughly 45 second and Clarke hops over the boards and onto the ice again. Calling for the puck, Clarke receives the pass as she skates across the ice and sure enough, Lexa is there to meet her, skating backwards to manage the passing lane. Giving up on speed, Clarke goes with Raven’s advice, she attempts to ‘dangle’ the puck in a swift move of deception to get Lexa to commit incorrectly. But the brunette doesn’t buy it, playing her position perfectly and pokes the puck off Clarke’s stick blade.

“Dammit!” Clarke verbalizes her frustration as she turns around, play shifting back to the possession of team dark.

Lexa smiles at the satisfaction in her ability to stop Clarke, clearly the best forward player at camp.

“Just decent, huh?” Clarke says, recalling Lexa’s response at the dinner table the night before. Clearly Lexa was significantly better than just decent.

Shrugging, “Don’t be so predictably Clarke,” Lexa jeers lightly as she skates next to Clarke, “that’s the same move you tried using last night,” during their game of floorball.

Clarke’s blue eyes darken to meet Lexa’s with a hint of fire as they part, eyeing the clock as she sits back down on the bench; Clarke had enough time for one more shift. One more chance against Lexa as their scrimmage approaches its remaining two minutes.

“I can’t believe you let her pluck you off like that, are you doing this on purpose?” Raven accuses.

“What?! No, she’s actually really fucking good,” Clarke admits, with tactics fading. “I think I’m going to have to take her out, go for the body. Lean in with some added speed, what do you think?”

“I think it’s all mental.”

“What?”

“All mental Clarkey, first love of your life, that kinda shit.”

Clarke drops her jaw in astonishment, “What are you even saying?!”

“I caught the look on your face when Lexa pulled off her shirt, gawking.”

“I was not.”

“Are you kidding me?” Raven deadpans, “You’re useless out there!”

“Okay fine! So I can’t think straight out there!”

“Ha!” Raven lets out a cackle at Clarke’s use of the word “straight.”

“Jesus how are you this _this_ immature?” Clarke replies, continuing to bounce her legs up and down in anticipation of her next shift on ice. “God, she makes me so nervous.”

“Griffin!”

Clarke hears her name from Kaitlyn, approaching the bench, “Huh?!”

“You’re up, go, go!”

“Oh,” mind distracted, thinking about Lexa, Clarke immediately hops over the boards and inserts herself into the play.

The puck is in her own defensive zone, stuck in the corner and Clarke approaches to help, shoving her stick and jabbing at the puck jammed between one of her teammate’s skates and somebody else’s stick.

Clarke is successful, aiding to pop the puck free and takes it on the end of her stick on an open drive towards the opposite end. She watches intently as Lexa begins to glide backwards, again managing the space between them and preventing Clarke from a clean shot. Driving directly at Lexa, Clarke bumps her shoulder square into the brunette with the intent to at least knock her off balance, somewhat guiltily recalling Lexa’s smaller frame in hopes to use it against her.

To Clarke’s surprise, Lexa doesn’t jar, balance perfectly centered and Clarke leans in harder, drilling her left shoulder in as hard as she can against the brunette’s chest until the edges of Clarke’s skates fail and her grip on the ice is lost.

Clarke falls, and inadvertently takes Lexa down with her. Falling in hockey is common, _extremely_ common, and no one bats an eye as the two girls collapse into one another. They slide across the ice with Clarke’s full weight on top of Lexa, helmets knocking like turtle shells and Clarke finds herself inches from Lexa’s face and would have smashed directly into it if it weren’t for their caged masks, staring into the pretty brunette’s green eyes in slight bewilderment.

Both girls’ pupils dilate at their proximity and they barely register the thudding halt as their bodies met the boards. The sound of Coach Jason’s whistle might as well have been a distant cry as they remain locked in each other’s eyes.

“Uhh…” Clarke mutters, feeling Lexa’s chest rise and fall with each breath, “S- sorry.”

Lexa’s eyes wander, maybe down at Clarke’s lips, before they find their way back to her blue eyes.

“Um, it’s okay,” Lexa responds, automatically leaning up to help Clarke off of her, but secretly wanting the feeling on the blonde’s body on hers to stay. “Here,” Lexa continues, taking the side of Clarke’s arm to shift her off.

Slowly, Clarke scoots off and reaches for her stick while Lexa sits up.

“Hey!”

They both turn their attention, it’s Coach Pierre, “You two alright?”

“Yeah,” they say, simultaneously nodding and standing to make their way back towards the bench.

The scrimmage ends and Coach Jason finishes with a few closing remarks, though the day had just begun. It’s 10am, and Coach goes over the remainder of the day’s schedule verbally. The girls were already exhausted and listening to what was left killed all the morale.

7:00 am – Breakfast

8:00 am – On-ice training

10:30 am– Video review

11:30 am – Lunch

12:30 pm – Circuit weight training

1:30 pm – Recreation

3:00 pm – Dryland training

5:30 pm – Dinner

7:00 pm – On-ice training

8:30 pm – Optional ice/Free time

10:00 pm – Lights out

-

To Lexa’s fortune, or maybe misfortune, the showers are stalled- a notable upgrade from the multitude of rinks and complexes Lexa’s had the chance to shower at, many with just spigots aimed at the center of a poorly tiled open space with a singular drain. If she were in that same circumstance, she might have forgone her shower to avoid awkwardly ogling at a naked Clarke. Sparing Lexa from that type of embarrassment, the university rink was nice, she had _actual_ control of the water temperature within the four walled stall, feeling almost 100% recharged.

Walking across the locker room to organize her bag, Lexa can't help but glance in Clarke’s direction, equally clean and brushing her wet, blonde hair. Clarke’s pale skin, red from the heat of the water.

Feeling a little creepy for staring too long, Lexa makes for the exit.

“Hey, where are we supposed to stow our gear again?” Lexa asks into the locker room, accepting anyone who answered her question.

Of course, Clarke leaps at the chance to engage, “Storage room two, it’s um, around the backside of the rink and through the double doors and left of the Zamboni.”

“Uh,” Lexa perplexes.

“Here, I’ll go with you,” Clarke says as she quickly shoves her hairbrush into a bag filled with bath products, tosses it in her hockey bag and shoulders everything in a single heap.

As Clarke walks past to lead the way, Lexa catches a whiff of Clarke’s freshly shampooed hair and _Jesus_ Lexa was seconds from passing out, tossing her head back in pure olfactory indulgence that was a combination of something sweet, like fruit, and floral, rose hips maybe.

“Fuuuuck…” Lexa drags just under her breath.

Clarke turns, “What?”

“Huh?”

“Did you say something?” Clarke asks, retrieving her sticks.

“What? Oh, no, nothing,” Lexa mutters, picking through for her own sticks.

Lexa proceeds to walk beside Clarke, afraid she might actually swoon if she caught another inhale of pure heaven.

“So um, will you be back next year?” Clarke questions, already thinking forward, thinking about the next time she’ll get to see Lexa beyond these two weeks.

“Oh uh, I’m not sure,” Lexa speaks softly, gaze aiming down at the ground, “It’s um, up to my dad. But I usually just go to the one right in DC. I went to one in Boston a couple summers ago. It was fun.”

“Oh,” Clarke nods, disappointment seeping through as she shifts her own eyes down at the floor.

“But…”

Clarke eyes flit up to Lexa’s, her chest flutters at the ‘but’.

“But, I can… ask my dad, if I um, can come back. Here?” Lexa replies with a smirk.

The reach the storage room and honestly, Lexa cannot recollect the path they’ve taken, attention solely on Clarke as they mindlessly toss their gear into the room.

“Yeah?” Clarke replies with an equal smirk, “Cause… that’d be like, cool,” Clarke says for lack of a better word.

Clarke leads them out to the door and into a room normally reserved for party rentals. You know, the ones for elementary birthday parties at the ice rink filled with chips, pizza, and soda. Except there is nothing celebratory in their situation, TV screen buzzing with a video of the ice and the coaching staff silently awaiting the girls filtering in for their next scheduled event: video review.

“Griff!” Raven exclaims from the back of the room, waving mostly at Clarke, but also inviting Lexa over. “I snagged the couch for us, c’mon!”

Clarke steps ahead and Lexa trails as they weave past the folding chairs and bench tables to the room’s sole couch, a dilapidated brown leather couch probably as old as the rink itself.

Raven scoots over to the right side as Clarke plops down in the middle, Lexa on the left. Inadvertently, Lexa’s right-hand brushes against Clarke’s left and Lexa pulls away at the innocent contact, fighting the urge to purposely “accidentally” touch Clarke again.

The room fills and of course, lights go off as Coach Jason hits play on the TV screen- a review of several more complicated drills and basic plays.

Lexa understood full and well, her expectation to execute the drills later, on the ice. But she purposefully remained completely oblivious to what was happening on screen, Lexa’s focus utterly on the girl to her right. Clarke, sitting fairly reserved, except Clarke’s left hand hadn’t moved. Palm resting on the couch, almost inviting Lexa to return with “accidental” contact.

Feeling brave, Lexa snakes her right hand out until the edges of their hands touch. Barley brushing, pinky to pinky.

And boy did Lexa feel stupid happy when Clarke wiggled her pinky and looped it over Lexa’s, intertwining pinkies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even I got feels from a simple pinky hold!


	4. Death Wish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god it's been too long. Clexaweek added two unplanned WIPS to my platter (The Morning After and Polis Tattoo). So please check them out! 
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is partly tribute to the US Women's Hockey team winning the Olympics (lots of ice time and hockey terminology). Sorry Canada, but it's been like 20 years. Srsly. Love me some Hilary Knight. If you don't know who she is, Google her. #21

Clarke skates harder, as hard as she can- feeling the edges of her skate blades grip the ice and shave off superficial millimeters in a single, powerful stop, spraying snow across the air like a snow plow. She’s ahead of the pack, ahead of Lexa, in this skating drill nicknamed “suicides” for a reason.

The drill consists of sprinting longitudinally across the rink starting from the red goal line, to near blue line with a hard stop, then returning to the red, to half-ice, to red, to far blue, to red. Back and forth and back and forth. It’s exhausting, lactic acid accumulating painfully in her thighs, everything really. Contrary to common understanding, skating utilizes every muscle in the body; core for balance, arms and shoulders to propel, glutes, hams, quads, and calves for every ounce of control compacted into steel blades.

“Griffin, good!” Coach Jason pats her shoulder pad in compliment as Clarke crosses the imaginary finish line, nearly collapsing with wobbly legs while her lungs burn from sucking the cold, dry, chilled rink air.

“Lexa, good! Not far behind,” Coach Jason continues, looking down at his black handheld stopwatch and announcing names as they arrive. “Gonzales, Laker, Nguyen, Sanders, Elliot…” etc.

While the pack trails in, Clarke has time to rest; catch her breath, peek through her peripheral at Lexa less than few feet away and intentionally avoiding eye contact.

/

Earlier.

Clarke’s oblivious to the bravado that unsuspectingly overcomes her; _linking_ her pinky over Lexa’s- what seemed like a good idea and felt natural at the time.

Clarke doesn’t expect the sudden surge of excitement followed by the tsunami of apprehension. It’s overwhelming and renders her stomach in knots, twisting and rising.

She recalls beginning to sweat despite the cool air conditioned room _in_ the ice rink with the urge to vomit. She reaches for Raven on her right in search of courage and reinforcement, practically squeezing the shit out of her best friend’s forearm.

“What the hell is wrong with you Grif!” Raven whispers under her breath. “Let go of my arm!”

Clarke looks at Raven in desperation, eyeing the situation- the pinky situation to her left and Raven sneaks a glance.

“You are so pathetic!” Raven mutters in response.

“Help me,” Clarke says through a clench jaw with heat rising up her neck and feeling a bit woozy.

“What do you want me to do?” Replies Raven.

“I dunno, but Rae- I’m starting to not feel so good,” Clarke whispers, heartbeat raising into her ears and room darkening despite the fact the lights are off.

“What do you mean you don’t feel so good?”

“I dunno, I just-”

Clarke blacks out. Goes unconscious and is about to roll forward face first off the couch when Raven takes a hold of Clarke’s right arm, quickly followed by Lexa seizing Clarke’s left.

“Clarke? Coach!” Raven calls.

The crowd glances back at the shuffling commotion and the lights flicker on. Raven scoots off the couch to lower Clarke down, cradling her head.

“What happened?” Asks Coach Jason.

“Nothing,” replies Raven. “She just… passed out.”

Coach quickly calls for the campus medics while checking Clarke’s breathing and pulse. After discerning that her basic vitals are present, he administers a solid stern rub that has Clarke waking and sitting up in a flurry.

“Whoa, take it easy Griffin,” Coach says. “Medics will be here in a few minutes, get you checked out. I think you might have overdone yourself on ice.”

“Mmm…” Clarke groans. “I’m fine,” she says, quickly becoming aware of the crowd that surrounded her, including Lexa.

Luckily, before Lexa touches her again, the medics arrive and recommend Clarke pay a visit to the campus clinic for a follow up.

“Can I go with her?” Raven asks.

Coach nods and the two best friends exit the building escorted by the medical staff.

/

“What happened Grif?” Asks Raven, entering the room after the doctor had left to review Clarke’s EKG results.

EKG, an electrocardiograph, standard procedure for sudden loss of consciousness to check for any possible unknown heart conditions.

“I don’t know… I think I- I think I passed out from holding Lexa’s hand?” Clarke replies, sitting on the exam table and putting her t-shirt back on.

“Clarke, you weren’t even holding hands. Barley linking pinkies. What happened?”

“Well… I was, feeling brave. And um, Lexa put her hand next to mine, so I decided to loop my pinky over and that’s when I… started to feel a little faint… sooo I grabbed you for support.”

“No shit Sherlock, my left arm is probably going to bruise by tomorrow morning from your grasp. Honestly, you need to figure this out.”

“What do you mean?”

“Clarke, you are so dysfunctional, it’s beyond words. You’re too gay to function!”

“Hey! I’m not gay… I just, also like Lexa.”

“Excuse me, bisexual. Or... is there something else you prefer?”

“No um… bisexual… seems appropriate…” Clarke replies with some trepidation, never having given her sexual label much thought.

“Okay, well, at first this was humorous, seeing you so rattled. But I really can’t have you passing out on my 24/7. Maybe you should… lay off for a few days. Keep your distance and you know, acclimate?”

“Acclimate,” Clarke repeats unamused. “To Lexa’s presence.”

Raven chuckles, “Uh- yeah? Clearly touch was too much. Like training at an increased altitude, you gotta start slow and then work your way up.”

“I was barely touching her pinky! But... but I was fine when we were playing floor ball?”

“I dunno, maybe your adrenaline kicked in to substitute. But you really weren’t _you_ during the last scrimmage game, you didn’t even get a shot off your stick!”

“Oh my god, you’re right!” Clarke responds in realization. She averages ten shots per game, so none is quite significant. “What’s wrong with me?!”

Suddenly, the doctor enters with a long, charted paper resembling a receipt.

“Apparently nothing, young Miss Griffin,” she answers with eyes glued to the to the EKG. “No abnormalities here. Is there anything else you might recall during your on ice session this morning? Feeling faint or fatigued?”

Well, yes, obviously with the amount of skating Coach had them do.

“Um, no- nothing out of the ordinary,” Clarke replies.

“And no falls?”

“Actually, I did fall. Once- twice this morning, but I didn’t hit my head.”

“Hmm…” the doctor hums, shifting her gaze from the EKG to Clarke’s chart. “How’s your appetite?”

“Fine.”

“Anything else that you can think of that might have prompted your loss of consciousness?”

_Lexa. Lexa. Lexa._

“Nope!” Clarke says cheerily. “I feel great.”

She glances up from her glasses with stereotypical doctored skepticism, “Hm, well, you should definitely drink more water. Usually I don’t recommend sugared drinks, but considering your age, athleticism and training, at least one sports drink like Gatorade or Powerade a day.”

Clarke nods.

She is discharged shortly with a bottle of Gatorade and a couple papers for record keeping purposes, including her EKG Raven is enthusiastically looking at.

“So weird,” Raven says as they meander back towards their dormitories. “Heartbeat. Electrical connections. Ha, too bad they didn’t have you hooked up while you were holding Lexa’s pinky, probably flatlined. Beeeeeeeeeeeep.”

Clarke nudges Raven in the side, “Shut up. I need to focus on staying away from Lexa and try not to make skin to skin contact again. What am I supposed to say to her?”

Raven shrugs, “I dunno, tell her the truth, that you need some space.”

“Right, because that makes perfect sense- I need you to stay away so I don’t pass out again, thanks?”

“Yeah. Nothing beats honesty,” Raven replies while folding Clarke’s EKG and tucking it back in between the papers.

“Maybe I should tell her I’m sick, and I don’t want to make her sick?”

“Are you an idiot, did Lexa flatline your brain cells too? If you’re sick, how are you supposed to keep training? You don’t even have a doctor’s note to keep you off ice.”

“Yeah, you’re right. What if… I don’t shower after hockey and stink all day, you think she’ll stay away?”

“Gross. Then you’d lose me too.”

“Ugh, c’mon Rae. Help me come up within something.”

They enter through the double doors of the dormitory foyer, about to pivot the corner down the hallway.

“I think you should just tell Lexa the truth,” Raven says plainly.

They turn the corner.

“Tell me what?”

“Lexa!” Clarke screams, tossing her papers in the air from fright. “Nothing!”

Clarke immediately bends down to retrieve her paperwork when Lexa generously offers to help.

“Here, let me help you-”

“No!” Clarke cries.

Instinctively, Lexa backs away in concern. “Ohh-kay,” she drags out slowly. “Is everything okay…?”

Clarke is a bumbling mess, loosely gripping her papers in a rumpled stack, EKG unfolding like an accordion while she abruptly stands.

“Fine! Totally fine,” Clarke breaths. “I just- they said I might be contagious.”

Raven looks at Clarke in cynicism. _That_ is the explanation Clarke blurts and she’ll have to support?

“Contagious?” Lexa echoes. “And they… let you out? Sick? Among others? To keep training?”

“Uh- uh, yeah. They said um,” Clarke stutters, searching for a fictitious medical explanation that typically, she can devise considering her mother is a doctor. But, her current situation is like no other, Lexa staring at her in wide-eyed care. Affection even.

It’s incredibly cute.

Unbearably cute.

“Oh god…” Clarke can feel her breath shortening again, frantically searching for an explanation as her anxiety began to skyrocket.

“Clarke?” Raven eyes her best friend. “Clarke don’t do this, don’t pass out on my again.”

“I’m fine I’m fine, I just-”

Clarke sees Lexa’s hand reach out to try and help, “Don’t touch me!” She panics, and Lexa retracts with added concern on her face. Like a helpless green-eyed puppy and Clarke is seconds away from melting.

“I got it,” Raven swoops in, gripping Clarke’s elbow to yank Clarke out of Lexa’s orbit and proceeds towards Clarke’s room. Raven shouts back, “Um, I was vaccinated a few months ago!”

Lexa is left in utter bewilderment.

_What the fuck?_

Nothing Clarke said made any sense and Lexa is genuinely worried. One minute, Clarke seemed happy with their pinkies linked, then she loses consciousness and now, won’t even go near her.

Looking down at the ground and lightly scratching the back of her head, Lexa wanders back down the hall to lounge within the confines of her room. They had roughly an hour of down time before the next scheduled event- dry land training.

/

Lexa is thirty minutes into reading Harry Potter, The Half-Blood Prince, a reread of book six honestly. It’s undoubtedly one of her favorites if she _had_ to pick because of its insight into Professor Snape. Raven enters their room in an oddly carefree attitude, especially considering if Clarke is sick.

“Hey Lex!” Raven greets.

“Hey,” Lexa briefly looks up. “How’s Clarke?”

“Good, she’s um, good.”

Raven is a little easier to read than Clarke. Lexa won’t go as far as calling Clarke frantic, but Raven has displayed a slightly higher stability in attitude and composure. Slightly.

“Really?” Lexa presses. “She’s okay? Looked like she was about to crash in a foyer again… Is everything alright… Did I do something?”

“Lexa,” Raven signs, turning to face Lexa while leaning on her desk. “Look, I like you and Imma be straight with you. Um, no pun intended. But, Clarke is crushing on you. _Hard._ ”

Lexa feels as if she hit a pot of gold.

Placing her book down and sitting up in jubilation, “Really?” She says with a slightly daft smile.

“Really. And suffice it to say, it’s rendering her useless. She went unconscious from touching you. _Touching you._ She’s too embarrassed to admit, so don’t tell her I told you, but just, maybe hang back? Give her some space?”

_She fell unconscious from touching me?_

The last thing Lexa wants to do is hurt Clarke and her sudden glee simmers, “Oh.”

“Sorry girl, I think she just… needs some time to… acclimate.”

“Acclimate? Like acclimating to altitude?”

“Exactly what I told her! You and I,” Raven gestures the space between them. “Great minds think alike.”

“So, you’re saying I should stay away from her?” Lexa restates.

“Yes,” Raven’s never been one for fluff. “Though I mean that in the nicest way possible. Just a few days maybe? I’m just looking out for Clarke.”

“Right…” Lexa replies, deflated.

/

Raven’s words follow Lexa through the remainder of the morning and well into the afternoon, sadly maintaining a “safe” distance from Clarke such as sitting diagonally from the blonde at lunch, staggering her placement in line during their off-ice drills and finally, most arduously, avoiding eye contact.

“Great job ladies!” Coach bellows after their final set of suicide drills. “The ice is open for another hour, until 9:30. It’s up to you how you want to spend it. Lights out by 10pm. Got it?”

Coach Jason blows his whistle to end the second ice session of the day. Almost all the girls lazily glide their way towards the exit, ready for a hot shower and straight to bed well before curfew.

Clarke lingers on the ice for a few seconds, feeling gloomy from the distance she initiated between them. She did notice when Lexa sat at the far end of the dining table, when Lexa staggered in line and skated opposite of her. Maybe Lexa honestly did believe she’s contagious. And while it’s in Clarke’s best interest to say away, she can’t.

While on ice, esteem had restored within Clarke, feeling comfortable and natural in her skates, plus found added reassurance in her gear that adequately covered all her skin with an unlikely chance of skin to skin contact. Essentially, Clarke feels closest to “being her usual self” since she laid eyes on Lexa.

Clarke picks up her stride, catching up to Lexa just about to step off and taps the brunette’s shin pads with her stick.

“Hey, wait, wanna stay to practice? Shooting, passing, or maybe… even some one-on-one?” Clarke offers.

One-on-one, as in close quarters, half-ice, and full body contact game of pick-up hockey.

Lexa turns, surprised, recalling Raven’s warning words. Undoubtedly, Lexa wants to stay. Added practice _and_ a pretty girl, it’s a no brainer. But, Lexa, in this rare moment, is hesitant. “Clarke… um, are you sure?”

Raven overhears and shimmies between Clarke and Lexa, bumping shoulder pads.

“What. Are. You. Doing?” Raven enunciates each syllable at Clarke. “Do you have a death wish?” She says directly into Clarke’s ear.

“What?” Clarke replies in nonchalance, “I feel fine. You wanna stay too?” Clarke extends to Raven, treating her as if she were a chaperone.

Octavia overhears, sliding in between Clarke and Raven, and draping her arm over both. “What are we doing? Two-on-two?”

Clarke smiles behind her face mask, mischief directed at Raven.

“Looks like we got a two-on-two ladies,” Clarke says into the circle.

Raven has no retort, and Lexa doesn’t have a chance to decline- though she really didn’t have intent to say no.

“So, how do we want to do teams?” Octavia asks.

Clarke proposes, “What about Rae and I, versus you and Lexa?”

Stacked against Lexa, Clarke schemes to get closer to the brunette. Put a body on her (if you will).

Octavia gives an uncaring shrug, but Raven is suspicious. “Don’t think so Grif, O and I versus you and Lexa,” Raven counters.

Clarke bites her cheek, her best friend dubious of her intentions, “Fine, if you feel like getting destroyed.” Clarke leans out of the circle, “Come on Lexa, looks like you’re with me.”

Lexa quirks an eyebrow in acceptance, easily peeling out of the circle and gliding in Clarke’s wake.

Octavia solidifies the rules, “First three post rings?”

Hitting the post, as in aiming for the red post of the hockey net vice shooting into an open net without a goalie. And an unspoken rule, once a team turns over the puck, the opposing team must take it out of the zone, denoted by the blue line on ice, before re-entering. Much like playing half-court basketball.

Clarke skates into the zone, fetches a puck out of the net and passes it to Raven. “Yep, first to hit the post three times. You and O go first.”

Raven receives the puck on her stick blade and stick handles it a few times before sending it to Octavia to drive it. “Go for it O.”

On the defensive end, Clarke whispers a few hints to Lexa as Raven and Octavia approach. “Raven plays smart, she’ll always go for deception or a pass. But she’s not afraid to get dirty and dig for puck in the corner either, watch out for her elbow. Octavia likes to take the body, and charge with speed.”

Lexa nods, still unsure how she’s roped into playing two-on-two. Though she doesn’t mind the view of Clarke on her left, except would have preferred to play against Clarke for similar, selfish reasons.

The game begins, and Lexa backs up with a few opening cross overs as Octavia carries the puck in with speed. Taking into consideration the information Clarke just told her, instead of giving Octavia room to skate, Lexa abruptly stops and pokes the puck out from Octavia’s possession.

“Fuck!” Octavia curses.

And Clarke is already there, recovering the puck to gain possession and taking it out of the zone.

She sends a pass across ice to Lexa and Lexa begins to skate it in, eyeing Clarke in her peripheral, they zig-zag into the zone and just as they cross paths, Lexa drops the puck back for Clarke- essentially known as a drop pass. Usually an advanced and practiced maneuver, Clarke and Lexa flawlessly connect.

“Well aren’t you two fancy!” Raven comments.

“Take the shot Clarke!” Lexa shouts.

Clarke shoots at the opportunity and the puck rings off the net’s crossbar, echoing throughout the rink.

“One- nothing,” Clarke scores and passes the puck at Octavia. “Go.”

The four set up again, creating the corners of a square from a bird’s eye view. This time, Raven commences, skating the puck in and diverting wide as Clarke puts on pressure.

Clarke bodies Raven into the boards, jostling her and Raven loses possession of the puck. The puck continues to glide into the corner until it reaches a slow rest against the small, accrued pile of snow.

Suddenly, Lexa sweeps in to pick up the idled puck, though she has less than a second before Octavia slams her against the boards.

“Ugh,” Lexa exhales at the contact, but skillfully maintains possession, locking the puck in place and protecting it with her body.

Lexa can tell Octavia is strong, feisty even, but Octavia can’t make it past Lexa’s strategic body placement. With the puck frozen, Clarke comes into help with Raven piling on behind, and Lexa feels a jolting bump resonate across her body.

All four girls are fighting for the puck in the corner, kicking their skates, smacking their sticks, pushing on each other and, laughing.

“Ow, watch that fucking elbow Rae!” Clarke cries, nudging Raven back, but Raven remains amused at their outlandish illegal hits.

Lexa’s still pinned along the boards with all three behind her, trying to spin her way out but can’t. Finally, she manages to kick the puck back and it pops out toward center ice.

Clarke is the first to notice and playfully pushes down off Raven’s helmet to get a head start.

“Dammit Clarke! That’s illegal!” Shouts Raven and in return, hooks Clarke’s foot with her stick and trips her best friend, stopping Clarke from reaching the puck.

“Oomph!” Clarke falls on the ice. “Son of a bitch Rae!” Clarke swears in laughter. She looks up to find Octavia, scooping the puck up for an easy open shot and hits the left post.

“One-one!” Shouts Octavia.

They reset.

“Sorry, that was my fault,” Lexa apologizes. “I thought I had Octavia along the boards.”

“You did,” Clarke replies and turns her head at Raven. “But someone decided to trip me!”

Raven holds up her middle finger through her gloves and Clarke reciprocates in good fun.

They restart, and Lexa passes the puck to Clarke. Clarke takes two power strides in, all kinetic energy and drives wide. Octavia attempts to body Clarke into the boards, but Clarke manages to speed past, dipping low into the corner.

“Slot, slot!” Lexa yells, skating into a triangular area directly in front of the goal known as the slot.

With even looking, Clarke blindly dishes the puck up the slot, setting Lexa perfect up for a single slap shot, aka, a one-timer.

Lexa smack the shit out of the puck, it goes sailing and nicks the top of the post in an audible ding before ricocheting up. In two halves.

“Dang Lex,” Raven comments. “That’s a hell of a slapper you got there,” with eyes still trailing the puck pieces in the air. 

“Holy shit Lexa, you _broke_ the puck,” Clarke comments.

“Whoops,” Lexa shrugs, “happens sometimes,” and skates to the net to dig out a new puck from the batch. “I believe it’s two-one?” She says, passing a new puck to Raven.

“Yup,” Octavia confirms. “Two-one, and I am _not_ getting in front of Lexa.”

Raven skates the puck in for their next round and is faced against Lexa. Purposely avoiding Lexa, an actual defender, she shifts diagonally to Clarke’s side. Squared against her best friend, Raven pulls Clarke wide before sending a pass to Octavia.

Octavia catches the pass, but she has little time with Lexa immediately on her and decides to simply shoot. Octavia misses wide and the puck rims its way around the glass and flies out the zone.

It becomes a free for all.

All four pivot 180 to skate after the puck to obtain possession. Raven is about to hook her stick around Clarke’s ankle again and slow her best friend down, but Lexa smacks her stick atop Raven’s, preventing Raven from tripping Clarke again.

Raven’s mouth goes agape and feigns offense, “You’re my roommate, I thought we had a connection!”

“You know, I like you Reyes,” Lexa simply replies.

With Lexa and Raven stalling behind, it’s a foot race between Clarke and Octavia. Octavia tries to nudge Clarke out of the way, push her off balance with the possibility of even knocking Clarke down. But, Clarke remains surefooted, familiar with Octavia’s strategies and beats Octavia to the puck.

Lexa immediately recognizes that Clarke has possession and skates towards the zone on the open opportunity, akin to a wide receiver going deep to catch a pass from the quarterback.

“Clarke!” Lexa calls for the puck, waving her stick in the air to show that she’s open.

Clarke sends a pass from the far end of the ice rink, the perfect saucer pass (because the puck spins like flying saucer). It lands directly on the Lexa’s taped stick blade (an ideal pass termed tape-to-tape) and she skates the puck in, undefended.

“Aw shit!” Raven tries to catch up to Lexa, but, seeing she’s at a loss, Raven desperately dives forward to stop Lexa.

Lexa’s about to shoot but sees Raven dive out of the corner of her eye and in that split second, decides to hold onto the puck. Raven glides across her path like a baseball player sliding face first for home-base. To maintain possession, Lexa taps the puck towards the corner of the boards and proceeds to _jump_ over Raven’s body. Subsequently, Lexa chases the puck as it ricochets off the boards and takes it behind the net, stopping to look up ice.

She spots Clarke skating forward into the zone, motioning her stick facetiously like a baseball bat. Immediately understanding Clarke’s gesture, Lexa drags the puck on the toe of her stick and pops the puck up and over from behind the goal as if it were an underhand rainbow toss and Clarke bats the puck out of the air with the shaft of her stick (this is a legal move in hockey as long as the stick is shoulder height) and the puck rings the post.

“Wooooo!” Clarke cheers. “It’s a home run!”

In celebration, Clarke glides down onto one knee, simultaneously flipping her stick around and aiming the butt end like a rifle. “C’mon Rae, pull one for me?”

Raven rolls her eyes but does as Clarke asks- retrieving a stray puck and sends it into the air like a clay pigeon. Clarke pretends to peer through a scope, air cocks the shaft of her stick and feigns fire with a kickback that rolls through her upper body.

Octavia laughs, “Nice, celly Clarke!”

Celly- a hockey term for showboating after scoring, short for celebration.

They’re sixteen, young and carefree.

“What about you O?” Clarke responds. “Let’s see it.”

“I like this one.” Octavia holds out her stick like bow and arrow, aims with one eye closed and lets the arrow fly.

They all laugh in lighthearted fun, Lexa included.

“Raven!” Clarke tags.

“You know me Clarke!” And flips her stick around, straddles it like a broomstick or a vintage giddy-up stick horse with a stuffed head, and begins to gallop, motioning her right arm as if she were handling a lasso. “Like a cowboy baby!”

They cheer, Octavia whistling.

“Lexa,” Clarke looks to the brunette, head nodding in her helmet. “What about you?”

Lexa’s posture transforms into a rather bashful slump with the added attention. Though she’s not shy, just modest.

“Oh… I don’t really have one,” Lexa replies.

The peanut gallery passes judgment.

“Oh c’mon!”

“Everybody has a celly!”

“Then what do you do when you score?”

Lexa shrugs, “Get back into the game, go back to my position.”

“ _Really_ Lexa?” Clarke contests. “There has to be _something._ Just show us- we’re not here to judge.”

Raven and Octavia follow with encouraging, “Yeahs.”

Lexa’s eyes dart left and right before she admits.

“Well… There is one. But,” Lexa exhales, “but, it’s stupid and sometimes people can’t tell what I’m doing so I don’t do it.”

“Let’s see it!” And Raven begins to chant, “Lexa! Lexa! Lexa!”

Sighing in defeat, Lexa spins her stick around to hold the blade end. She twirls it once before pointing it up at the ceiling in a regal manner, then aims it down and gracefully sheaths it along her left side.

“Okay- what?” Octavia is confused.

“I don’t get it either,” says Raven.

“Like a sword,” Clarke comments quickly, “I get it.”

“Yes!” Lexa gives credit to Clarke. “Thank you.”

“That’s cool,” Clarke follows. “Maybe go for the double and draw two from behind your back.” And Clarke motions with both her hands pretending to reach around her shoulders.

“Yeah, but I only have one stick, so that’ll make it even more confusing.”

“Ooo, or you can unsheath and like, slice the air some,” says Clarke enthusiastically waving her stick around. “Spin around and pierce the ground.”

“Yeah… don’t think so Clarke,” Lexa replies with squinted, skeptical eyes, but playfully adds. “Maybe in some fantasy world. Keep dreaming though.”

“Oh, I will,” Clarke dares.

Raven and Octavia quickly find themselves as third and fourth wheels.

“Uh… what about another round?!” Octavia awkwardly interjects.

“Let’s go,” Clarke easily replies. “But me and Raven versus you and Lexa,” Clarke switches the teams up.

Raven’s about to object, but Clarke cuts her off with a death stare.

Clarke skates to retrieve another loose puck and passes it to Octavia, “Go ahead.” And retreats into the defensive zone.

Just before departing Clarke’s side, Raven whispers, “I hope you know what you’re doing Clarke.”

“I’ll be fine Rae,” she whispers under her breath.

“You put a body on Lexa and I swear you’re commanding your own death.”

Clarke pays the warning little heed, “I’m in full gear Rae, we won’t make skin contact.”

Raven dips her head, unconvinced, “Stranger things have happened Clarke. And at least buckle your chin strap,” Raven says, brushing the loose strap on Clarke’s helmet that dangled down.

“What? That’s stupid, practice is over.” Clarke nudges off Raven’s shoulder pads to gain some distance, “Get ready, plus Coach Jason still in his office if something happens.” Clarke winks.

The four start the next round with Octavia making the initial drive and Lexa following closely behind. Clarke maintains her position between Lexa and the goal, watching Lexa’s eyes on the puck and waiting for a pass.

Sure enough, Octavia sends the puck to Lexa and Clarke intercepts.

“Nice Grif!” Raven shouts.

Except Clarke doesn’t make it far, Lexa instantly on her with a shoulder and lifting Clarke’s stick to fight for control.

Clarke leans into the brunette, both skating to gain speed over the other and slashing each other’s sticks. They’re an even match, shin pads knocking as their strides overlap until their sticks get tangled from the pushing and pulling. They trip over each other in a forward fall, sticks abandon, and Lexa goes down first, falling sideways with Clarke’s legs tangled in hers.

Clarke automatically puts her hands out in front to brace for the fall. Somehow, someway, Clarke’s arms end up pushing up on Lexa’s helmet from underneath and it gets roughly shoved off Lexa’s head. The thudding momentum of their fall allows for Clarke’s helmet to also pop off. Maybe if Clarke had her chin strap on, it would have stayed on. This has _never_ happened to Clarke and something else that’s never happened- her face smashes into Lexa’s.

It’s terrifying. Exhilarating. Everything.

They are cheek-to-cheek, maybe the corner of Clarke’s mouth even touched Lexa’s on the way down. Sweaty strands of dark brown hair reach Clarke’s mouth and nostrils. She takes in a full whiff of Lexa- it’s sweet tinged with the natural musk of Lexa’s sweat. Clarke feels like she’s drowning, can’t breathe though she’s the one topping Lexa with face essentially buried in the side of Lexa’s head.

Instinctively, Clarke leans up to get off, but their eyes immediately lock, and Clarke is trapped in their proximity.

Maybe she does have a death wish and well, kissing Lexa will be a hell of a way to go.

It’ll be her first kiss. Not just any first kiss, but her first time kissing a girl. Clarke’s chest bubbles with ambiguity, but with the added spike of adrenaline from skating, her endorphins are firing full force. It gives her courage despite her racing doubt.

_She’s either going to push me away or kiss me back._

Either way, Clarke takes the chance. Flirts with death. And moves forward with a quick, chaste press on Lexa’s lips.

It happens fast, Clarke is drawn into the moment for a brief kiss before breaking away, before Lexa can deny her. She’s stealing fire. But, Clarke is rewarded when Lexa’s leans up for a split second to chase her lips and awkwardly kisses back just as they part.


	5. A Thing of Firsts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tooth-rotting fluff of stuff in this chapter.

What’s more exciting than a first kiss? A second kiss. Because you know it’s coming—it’s happening. Just unsure when. The anticipated _thrill_ in a second kiss.

This is how Lexa finds herself. She doesn’t even know how to classify their first kiss—a quick press and that was all. Caught in the middle of the ice after a routine fall. Lexa’s eyes are blown wide in shock.

_What just happened?_

And judging from the expression on Clarke’s face, Clarke is in equal bewilderment though she’s the one who initiated it. Clarke’s pupils are big—dilated like when you go see the eye doctor and they put those drops in. Sweat on Clarke’s forehead gathers and drips. Lexa feels the plop of salt skim the top of her hair.

It’s been mere seconds but feels like a lifetime.

Lexa leans up again and the tips of their noses brush. Clarke doesn’t retract but tilts her head with eyes falling half-mast.

“Hey!” A deep, booming voice sounds from the distance. It’s Coach.

Clarke immediately pulls away and flops to the side of Lexa.

“Clarke! Lexa! What are you two ladies doing on the ice without your helmets!?”

They both scramble to their feet, eyes following the authoritative figure approaching them.

“Uh—Sorry coach,” Lexa answers for them. “We had them on, but they popped off.”

Clarke quickly follows with a, “Yeah, yeah.” Nodding profusely.

Coach looks at Raven and Octavia, “Is this true?”

“Yeah Coach,” says Raven. “They had their helmets on, crashed into each other and they somehow came off.”

He nods, though not entirely convinced. “Okay, well, I think that’s good enough for now. Everybody off the ice.” And ushers them to the door.

The four girls glide off, bobbing up and down on their way to the locker room. Lexa trails Clarke and catches the blonde giving her a bashful look over the shoulder. But also, a bit of pride is revealed in Clarke’s smirk. The pride that comes with getting away with taking a cookie from the jar. Though, Lexa supposes Clarke did just escape death, considering she was the source of Clarke’s unconsciousness earlier today.

Slowly, Lexa gives Clarke a small smile back.

They file into the locker room and suffice it to say, it’s awkward. With Raven and Octavia witness to their unexpected first kiss, eyeballs dart left and right in the locker room. It’s silent except for shuffling of gear coming off: unlacing of skates, Velcro straps, and shoulder padding.

“I’m uh—” Raven cuts the silence. She’s a brave soul, Lexa thinks. “I’m going go to—um, shower back at the dorms. See ya guys, bye!” Or not.

Lexa doesn’t catch the wink Raven flashes in Clarke’s direction as Raven zips up here gear and leaves.

“I’m coming too!” Octavia quickly stands, and Lexa wonders if this was preplanned, because now, it’s just her and Clarke.

“I uh—I’m going to… shower here…” Clarke says.

Lexa nods, unsure why Clarke feels the need to tell her. Nevertheless, she watches out of the corners of her eyes as Clarke stands with a towel in hand and walks past to the shower stalls. Clarke’s gear is in a large mound atop her hockey bag, haphazardly thrown with skate blades still dripping.

Lexa is more meticulous with her gear and therefore slower to undress as she places each item in their predetermined spot. She uses a small hand towel to wipe her skate blades dry and cover them with protectors before depositing them in the bottom corner of her bag. Her shin guards go next, helmet in the opposite end, elbow pads, gloves, followed by shoulder pads, and finally, hockey pants. Like a neat puzzle.

“Oh shit, hey Lexa?”

“Yeah?”

“I um, I forgot my shampoo… do you mind grabbing it for me?”

“Sure.”

Lexa walks across to Clarke’s stuff. Pokes around briefly before reaching into Clarke’s bag for her shampoo. The brand is Herbal Essence, the light pinkish one—Lexa takes note. She walks it over to the shower stalls and holds the bottle over the top of the stall wall.

“Um, here.”

The brush of her hand as Clarke takes the bottle doesn’t escape Lexa.  

“Thanks.”

Although there are five stalls, Lexa chooses the next one to Clarke. It feels a bit creep-ish, but after what just happened on the ice, Lexa suspects that Clarke doesn’t mind.

Along with the steam, the smell of Clarke’s shampoo has filled the room. Lexa considers lying about forgetting her shampoo and asking to borrow Clarke’s. But, Lexa holds her tongue and squirts some of her own bottle and begins to lather her hair.

“So, um, how’d you get started playing?” Clarke asks. Her voice echoes down the empty locker room.

“Actually, I started out figure-skating first.”

Clarke laughs.

“Hey, don’t laugh.”

“Sorry, Lexa—just imagined you in a pink tutu.”

Lexa begins to laugh herself, “Shut up. Although I think I actually had a pink tutu.”

Clarke’s voice cracks louder, resonates from deep within and Lexa wishes she could see Clarke’s face.

“Yeah well, the tutu’s long gone when I found myself staying after my figure-skating lessons to watch the hockey team play. Never looked back.”

“Mm, that explains it though.”

Clarke turns off her shower.

“Explains what?”

“You have this… grace to your stride. When you skate,” Clarke says. “It’s um…” Clarke’s voice trails low. “It’s really nice to watch… you.”

Lexa squeaks off her shower and there’s silence in a still moment.

“Thanks,” says Lexa, now drying herself and putting on a light layer of clothes: underwear, shorts, sports bra, and a simple tee. “It’s uh, nice to watch you too. You’re strong out there. It’s—”

Their stalls click open, almost in unison, and they step out to meet each other in the eyes. Clarke’s dressed as well, but in a tank top instead, that does little to hide Clarke’s cleavage. Lexa doesn’t fail to notice.

“It’s… impressive,” Lexa finishes her thought as her eyes roam over Clarke’s face, whose expression matches Lexa’s: awe.

“Thanks…”

Lexa’s eyes flit down to Clarke’s lips, she wants to kiss them and takes big, gulping swallow to mitigate her thirst. To try and control the thumping that deafens her ears from the inside out. Lexa watches Clarke take her own bottom lip between her teeth.

They want the same thing. And quite frankly, here, in the seclusion of the girl’s locker room, there’s no better place.

“Can I…” Lexa starts, it’s a whisper. “Can I kiss you?”

Clarke’s already leaning in as she starts to nod.

They meet in the middle with a full press of the lips. Clarke drops her jaw and for the first time, Lexa feels someone else’s tongue swipe at the seam of her mouth. It startles her, and she pulls back, timid in the moment but finds an immediate resolution to return. Slowly, she parts her lips, seeking Clarke’s tongue with her own. The tips of their tongues brush and it sets Lexa on fire. Ignites every cell in her body and it’s more exhilarating than anything she’s ever experienced. Better than any goal she’s ever scored, better than any game she’s ever won.

Lexa wants more and pushes her tongue out only to be met with the languid coaxing of Clarke’s. She explores further, dips into to Clarke’s mouth—unsure when she started pressing Clarke against the wall or how Clarke’s hands are tangled in her hair. It becomes a balance, Lexa pushing and Clarke pulling. Lexa turns, bumping noses to change her angle to deepen the kiss and it draws a deep groan from Clarke.

“Mmm…” Clarke moans. “God, you’re a good kisser.”

“Really?” Lexa’s brow furrow in surprise.

“Why do you say it like that?” Clarke nudges Lexa’s nose for another kiss, closed mouth this time.

“Um—I’ve,” Lexa can feel the tips of her ears tinging red. “I’ve never done this before.”

“What? Kiss a girl? Cause me neither…” Clarke smirks as she says it, goes back in for another kiss between their sentences.

Clarke’s comment exacerbates Lexa’s admission. “Uh… no, not—not exactly.”

“Wait?” Clarke pauses, then places both of her hands on Lexa’s shoulders to gain a better look at Lexa’s full expression. “You mean… you mean…?”

“I’ve never kissed anybody before, Clarke,” Lexa finishes Clarke’s sentence.

“Oh… so this… and—and, oh my god, on the ice! That was your?”

Lexa pursers her lips, nodding, “Mm-hm.”

And watches Clarke’s eyes melt before her. “Oh my gosh Lexa, you are ssoooo adorable.”

“Well, I’m glad my adorability appeals to you… considering my lack of experience.”

“Just—c’mere,” Clarke cups both hands under Lexa’s jaw, tilts her head and returns for another kiss. This time, Clarke is more aggressive, leading with her tongue and flicking against the roof of her mouth.

“Ohmmm…” Lexa finds herself groaning. Then feels Clarke’s hand drift under her t-shirt and palming against her stomach.

“Fuck… you’re so sexy,” Clarke mouths.

Lexa quirks an eyebrow—she’ll take the compliment from this gorgeous girl she feels lucky to even have met. To be _kissing._

Without warning, three loud knocks sound from outside the locker room and Lexa immediately rips herself from Clarke.

“Is anyone left in there!?” says a voice from the other side of the door.

It’s the rink’s cleaning kid, closing for the evening. Lexa’s seen him around, sweeping and taking out the trash. He’s tall, lanky with a mousy face.  

“Yeah, Jasper!” And clearly, Clarke knows him. “We’re almost done, sorry!”

They catch each other’s eyes, both blushing as they scurry to their respective bags, packing their remaining gear, and exit the locker room.

After dropping off their gear, they make way towards the dorms with shoulders brushing. Lexa doesn’t know when their next kiss is going to be, but every time she looks over at Clarke, Clarke is looking at her. It’s unbearably cute—how Clarke darts her eyes, which Lexa finds surprising considering Clarke’s audacity through her roaming hands just minutes ago.

Lexa thinks about it again and again. They. Were. Making. Out. It makes her happy and giddy. But most of all, it makes her _want._

Feeling bold, Lexa slips her hand into Clarke’s, interlacing their fingers in the first hand-hold of her life. It’s comfortable—warm and soft, and Lexa begins to stroke the back of Clarke’s hand with her thumb, wanting to feel more. While the sensation of their hand-hold isn’t as exciting as kissing, Lexa recognizes it’s no less significant. It affords a unique intimacy despite its adolescent and innocent nature. It feels—special. For Clarke to _want_ to hold hers as well.

They don’t talk during the entirety of their walk back. They don’t have to, with hands linked and lightly swaying alongside their strides. More stealing glances accompany them until they reach the door of Lexa’s dorm.

Lexa can see Clarke chewing on her lip and leans in. “Can I… kiss you again?”

“Lexa…” A bashful smile appears on Clarke’s face. “You know, you don’t have to ask me every time, right?”

Lexa shrugs, but continues to lean in, “I just…” Kiss. “…didn't want to be rude.” Though, Lexa crowds Clarke and backs her up against the wall, much like she did earlier in the locker room. And this time, it’s Lexa’s turn to swipe at the seam of Clarke’s mouth and feels Clarke grant her easy access. They chase tongues at first until Clarke does something new, takes a hold of Lexa’s lower lip and _sucks._

“Mmm…” Lexa responds with a hum, finds herself threading her fingers deep into Clarke’s pretty blonde hair.

“You like that…?”

Lexa only nods once before capturing Clarke’s lips once again. She wants to discover more, and before Lexa knows it, she’s kissing down Clarke’s neck. Lapping her tongue, flat against Clarke’s supple skin. And _god_ , the way Clarke smells. It’s like a dream. Well, better because Lexa’s never had a dream like this. She can _taste_ Clarke. Clarke is sweet with remnants of her floral shampoo clouding Lexa everywhere akin to the way droplets of dye swirl around in water before consuming it.

On instinct, Lexa takes a small patch just above Clarke’s collarbone and begins to _suck._ She hears Clarke groan in her ear and her name spills from Clarke’s lips. It’s unbelievably satisfying—to render such an effect on someone else. Lexa lets off with the sound of a small, slippery _pop_ and traces her way back to Clarke’s lips, kissing with a little more confidence, with more fervor as she familiarizes herself with Clarke’s mouth again and again.

/

It’s got to have been hours—it has to be, because for both young athletes, they’re insanely out of breath. They come to a slow stop with foreheads resting against each other, panting in each other’s faces. When Lexa opens her eyes, she notices Clarke’s hair is in a giant, tussled mess and Lexa surmises the same for her own.

“We should um—” Lexa swallows a light parch in her throat. “We should get to bed Clarke. We need to be up by seven and I have no idea what time it is.”

Clarke nods, though Lexa can feel Clarke’s unwillingness to part. “Yeah… okay.”

“Kay, I’ll see you in the morning,” Lexa says with lips brushing over Clarke’s as she speaks.

“Mm-kay, goodnight Lexa.” Clarke says with an added kiss, a softer one this time.

“Good night.”

Slowly, Clarke shifts out of her arms—fingers are the last to let go as Lexa watches Clarke walk down the hall just a few doors down. Clarke looks at her before entering her dorm, produces a small, cute wave and mouthing another “good night” at Lexa.

“Night,” Lexa whispers across and quietly pushes her way into her dorm.

Raven is in a deep slumber when Lexa enters, tip-toeing across to her bed when she sees the time. It’s 2:14 am.

“Fuck,” Lexa whispers to herself—she’s going to be _so_ tired tomorrow morning. Crawling into bed, Lexa can feel the fatigue in her body, the weight of a full day’s training. Her bones ache, but despite the physicality of her tiredness, her mind is racing. Like the adrenaline of that comes after scoring a game-winning goal and replaying it in your head; Lexa is replaying the evening with Clarke.

It all seems so surreal. Did she just really spend hours making out with Clarke in the hallway? Lexa licks her lips and can feel the edges beginning to swell. The evidence. Yes, yes she did.

She tosses in this mental rerun until four in the morning—until her eyelids slip shut with a broad grin, the pleasant thought of Clarke lulling her to sleep.

Unfortunately, her morning alarm is not so pleasant. It pulls her out of deep REM and Lexa struggles to open an eye, finding Raven already up and getting dressed.

“Morning roomie,” Raven winks at Lexa. “Didn’t know if you were gonna be back.”

“Mmm-ggghmmm…” Lexa groans and manages to sit up, rubbing her face. “Morning.”

“Nice hickey.”

“What?”

Lexa looks down, scanning her arms and shoulders and Raven laughs.

“Oh, it’s a lot higher than that.”

Lexa hops out of bed and stands in front of the mirror that’s mounted behind the door. And there, she sees a dark, red and purple mark flaring just under her right jawline. “Oh, shit…” she touches it.

“Here,” Raven breaks out a small bag and from the sounds of it, it’s makeup. “Or did you want to sport that proudly?”

“Uh—” Lexa’s never been asked that question, another in the line of firsts for her. “Is that—what people do? Sport them—this?” She gestures.

“Yeah, whatever you want.”

Initially, Lexa leans towards covering it up. But as she touches it, _remembers_ Clarke’s lips on her—doesn’t want to absolve any traces of Clarke. Another reminder that it was—it is real.

“I want to leave it,” Lexa says.

“Cool,” Raven zips up her small make-up bag and just as she does, there are a few short knocks on the door.

Automatically, Lexa reaches forward for the knob and opens the door. “Clarke?”

“Hey… morning…”

Clarke’s eyes shine, bright and blue like the sky. Lexa also notices something else, Clarke’s matching mark—apparently Lexa left a few more. Three to be exact. Two on the right, one on the left.

“Wow,” Raven speaks up. “You two get an F for subtlety.”

Clarke simply flips Raven the bird. “Like I giva shit.” And turns her attention back to Lexa. “Breakfast?”

“Yeah… just give me a few minutes to get ready, I got up like thirty seconds ago.”

Clarke nods, “I’ll be right out here.”

Together along with Raven, Clarke and Lexa walk towards the dining hall and rendezvous with Octavia. With the added company, Lexa finds it difficult to touch Clarke like she did last night—they don’t hold hands but manage the occasional finger brush.  

It’s not until they’re sitting next to each other at the breakfast table—this time, Lexa sitting to Clarke’s right when she’s able to reach underneath and put her hand on Clarke’s knee. It doesn’t take long for Clarke to meet her reach and lacing fingers. Clarke’s left-handedness is impeccably convenient.

Lexa doesn’t recall a single conversation with the others, on a type of automation for small talk as Clarke enraptures her attention throughout the day.

What Lexa finds most bothersome, the lack of privacy. She’s constantly seeking opportunities to be alone with Clarke, to be able to kiss Clarke again, but the purpose of her being here is disruptive. Group training regiments, lifting routines, and then back on the ice. She waits _all day_. Until finally, fucking finally, they get the last hour of the ice at the end of the day.

“Open ice for the next hour,” Coach announces, “and if you’re going to stay, please ensure you have all your gear on.” He glances in Clarke and Lexa’s direction.

Lexa easily sees what Clarke is thinking, but verbalizes it anyway

“Hey,” Lexa taps Clarke’s shin pad with her stick. “Wanna stay for some one-on-one?”

“Mm, thought you’d never ask.”

Lexa takes a puck closest to her and flips it in Clarke’s direction. “Keep away?”

Clarke pulls the puck on to her stick and gives it a few stickhandles, left-right-left. Left-right-left.

Without question, their make-out session last night has given both a comfortable certainty. And out comes the flirting.

“Come and get it,” says Clarke.

Lexa smiles and skates at Clarke. Immediately, Clarke turns her body to protect the puck, dropping a hand to brace for Lexa’s impact. They bump shoulders and elbows before Lexa is fully pressing against Clarke’s back—she can hear the amusement in Clarke’s humming exhale.

Clarke moves to twist, tapping the puck behind but Lexa catches it with her foot, gains control and takes two gracing strides away.

“Making it easy for me Clarke. Doing it on purpose to appease me?”

Clarke chases Lexa and corners her against the boards, batting at Lexa’s stick as Lexa maintains possession.

“Oh, trust me,” says Clarke. “You’d know if I were trying to appease you…” Clarke wiggles her eyebrows and it causes Lexa’s concentration to lapse, and before she knows it, Clarke has snagged the puck.

“Dammit.”

Regaining her poise, Lexa closes in on Clarke and they’re shoulder to shoulder again. They continue like this, tangled in a giggling push-pull, taking and losing the puck a piece. Lexa doesn’t remember having this much fun since she was much younger—years before the game became serious. Before the college scouts, stern coaches, and yelling parents. This is fun. _Clarke_ is fun.

Without warning, the far end rink doors thump open. It’s the Zamboni driver.

“Hour’s over ladies! Gotta Zam the ice!”

“Got it!” Clarke shouts.

And Lexa gives a quick, “Thanks!”

As they enter the locker room, the same cleaning kid is waiting by the door with an annoyed, impatient look on his face. “Hey Clarke, I’m uh—lookin’ to get out of here early. I wanna meet up with Maya, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah, Jasper. I got you. We’ll be out in ten.”

“Cool, thanks,” he says with a perky smile and puts his headphones back over his ears.

Clarke’s response deflates Lexa, who had hopes of revisiting last night’s interaction in the locker room. But her disappointment is quickly mitigated when Clarke speaks up.

“Shower fast,” Clarke says, “I wanna take you somewhere.”

“What?”

Clarke only repeats what she said, giving out no details. “I wanna take you somewhere.”

“Do you have a car here, Clarke?”

“Nah, nothing like that. Where we’re going, we don’t need a car.”

 _We._ Clarke said we.

Clarke’s already half naked and stepping past Lexa towards the shower before Lexa has a skate off. “Come on Lex.”

They shower (separately) and in ten minutes are out the rink doors. It’s a warm summer evening, both comfortable in shorts and tank tops. Immediately, they link hands and Lexa hopes to pull Clarke around to the side of the building, shadowed from the parking lot lamps to _finally_ kiss her, but Clarke tugs in the opposite direction—not towards the dorms, but further into campus.

“Where are we going, Clarke?”

“Just come on,” Clarke continues to pull but turns around to lock eyes. “Do you trust me?”

Lexa rolls her eyes, just a little bit with fingers now playing lightly in Clarke’s.

“Yes… considerable so in relation to the amount of time I’ve known you.”

“Good,” and with that answer, Clarke drops Lexa’s hand and takes off in a light jog.

“Clarke!” Lexa picks up her own pace.

Clarke takes a sharp right turn, off the main path and into a wooded area.

“Clarke!” But all Lexa hears is Clarke giggling in front of her. Never in her wildest dreams or imagination did she think she’d be chasing a girl through the woods like a fucking romance novel or rom-com. “Seriously, Clarke?!” Lexa’s doesn’t share the blonde’s amusement, hopping over thick underbrush, roots, and swatting away stray twigs. “Clarke! This is uh—kinda dangerous! Not only is it dark, but there are roots. If either of us trips and breaks something, that’d be the end—mmpphhh…”

Unexpectedly, Clarke stops to turn, and Lexa runs directly into Clarke’s lips. The world around her drops, it becomes irrelevant because Clarke is in her arms and they’re kissing again. Their tongues touch and glide against each other with a few strands of hair caught in the middle. Lexa wipes them away while stroking Clarke’s face.

Either she’s urging Clarke backward or Clarke is pulling her forward, regardless, Lexa suddenly finds herself in a small clearing complimented by the recognizable sound of water. She stops to open her eyes.

“Woah,” Lexa exhales, absorbing the secluded scene before her. They’re waterside by a lazy river and ahead, sits a small dock.

“I um—normally come out here every summer, you know, during hockey camp,” says Clarke.

“Oh.”

“And… usually, by myself,” Clarke admits.

Lexa pulls Clarke in tighter and allows herself to nuzzle in by Clarke’s ear. “How come by yourself?” And kisses a new spot, just under Clarke’s ear.

“Mmm…”

Lexa feels Clarke squeeze lightly at the nape of her neck.

“Just…” Clarke begins to respond, “the pressure. You know what I mean?”

“I do.”

Lexa really does; Clarke is referring to the pressures of being a young, elite athlete. Not only does she need to maintain her game throughout the summer and into the next season, but academics are a factor along with social aspects such as volunteer hours and student council. All in hopes to gain the attention of a college scout. Scholarship opportunities are especially rare in women’s hockey, which intensifies the competition. That pressure.

“I had a lot of fun on the ice today,” Clarke says. “A lot of fun.”

“Me too. I haven’t played like that since I was a kid.”

Lexa feels Clarke unwrap from her embrace, but fingers stay intertwined and without words, they walk onto the gently bobbing dock. It’s not a full moon, but close, waxing at three-quarters along the top of the tree line. Its light catches the tips of the rippling water, painting ideal serenity.

They sit at the end of the dock and automatically, Clarke kicks off her shoes to dip her feet. Lexa does the same. The water is cool compared to the warm, humid air. As much as Lexa wants to kiss Clarke, respects this place Clarke has taken her—willing to show her. Lexa recognizes that they have a connection that runs deeper than lust and physical attraction. Just as Lexa makes peace with that thought, of distance and regard, she feels Clarke scoot and lean inward.

They’re kissing again and much like last night, are bumping noses, changing angles, and chasing tongues. Before Lexa knows it, they’re sprawled on the wooden dock, Clarke atop with a leg snaked in-between hers. They also back to breathlessness, raggedly huffing and puffing the same air until Clarke slows to rest in the crook of Lexa’s neck.

“I really like you, Lexa,” Clarke says after a moment of silence.

Lexa threads her hands into Clarke’s hair, stroking softly. “I really like you too, Clarke.”

The moon now dangles high, directly overhead.

“You ever wonder what it’s like to go to the moon?” Clarke asks.

“Nope. I like it here on earth, staying grounded. Why, you?”

“Yeah… I think it’d be cool, to look down at earth from the vastness of space.”

“Hm. Clarke Griffin. Hockey player. Astronaut,” Lexa says with heavy sarcasm. “I definitely see it, the natural progression from stickhandling to space dwelling. Gotta mind the gravity though.”

Clarke laughs, “Shut up. So, what, you’re saying I can’t be an astronaut?”

“Not at all. You can be an astronaut.” Lexa pauses, thinks about her next sentence but in her teenage, innocent love-drunken state, says, “I’ll miss you though, down here on earth.”

Clarke props herself up on her elbow, “Will you wait for me?”

Lexa grins, “Always.”

Her response has Clarke returning for more kisses, which sets a pace for the remainder of the night and well into the early morning. Talking and kissing, kissing and talking. Lexa learns about Clarke’s family, that her mom is a doctor and her dad, an engineer. Details about Clarke’s deceased older brother.

“He died, in a car accident. Was hit by a drunk driver,” Clarke says, “I was only eleven, and he had just gotten his drivers’ license at sixteen. Technically I’ve outlived him by five months now, it’s weird.”

“I’m sorry Clarke,” Lexa says. “Do you miss him?”

“No… I used to, but it seems so long ago now.”

Lexa nods. “I know what you mean.” Lexa is no stranger to death. Recall, her mother passed when she was eight.”

“Oh right. Your mom...”

Lexa can see tears well at the corners of Clarke’s eyes at the thought. From what Lexa’s learned, Clarke is extremely close to both her parents.

“I’m sure you’ve got to miss her.”

“I do—but like you said, it seems so long ago now. More like a recurring bad dream than a memory.”

By now, the moon has dropped below the horizon, replaced by twilight from the peaking sun. Lexa’s never pulled an all-nighter void of academics before. She can’t fathom how they’ve managed to stay up all night, content on a hard wooden surface. She knows her body is going to ache in all kinds of different places like the first night spent camping—sleeping on the ground in a tent. Minus the sleeping.

“I have no idea how I’m still awake,” Clarke says.

“Me too. What time is it?”

Clarke looks at her watch—a watch Lexa has the privilege of learning the backstory. It belonged to Clarke’s late brother and she never takes it off.

“Aw fuck, 6:32 am. We have to be up in half an hour for breakfast.”

Lexa laughs, “We are up. Fuck, we’re gonna be so tired,” Lexa says, laying her head back down on her forearm.

“Do you regret it?”

“I don’t regret anything, ever. Just saying.”

Clarke hums a chuckle and they go back to kissing right up until they leave—peeling themselves away from nirvana and returning to reality.

“Where the fuck have you two been?” says Raven as Clarke and Lexa take their respective seats at the breakfast table.

Clarke shrugs with the first bite of her eggs. “Out.”


	6. The One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa moves past first base and well into second and... well, you'll see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers! I'm heading on vacation next month, so I'm doing my best to update all of my fics before I leave. I'm heading to Paris to participate in the International GayGames 2018! It's the Gay Olympics, for reals, google it! And yes, I'm there to play hockey so this fic definitely is due for an update. Enjoy!

Lexa and Clarke don’t learn their lesson after pulling their first all-nighter on the dock. They return for second and third consecutive nights, kissing on the wooden surface for hours and hours into the night and early morning. Hockey quickly falls into the background. They are tired for practice, sleepy during lunches, but fueled by each other. Hickies pepper their necks, it’s no secret—the entire camp knows, but both are too infatuated with each other to care about appearances.

“Hey, I’m going to grab some M&M’s too, want something else?” Lexa says to Clarke.

It’s Friday night, movie night at the clubhouse. The girls receive a break from evening on-ice practice for a mandatory showing of _Miracle,_ a movie on the 1980 U.S. men’s Olympic team, who miraculously defeated hockey powerhouse Russia in the most doubtful of circumstances.

“Um… Skittles?”

Lexa smiles, there’s confidence she didn’t know she had, and Clarke brings it out of her.

“Only if I can taste your rainbow?” Lexa replies.

The past few days of inseparability has afforded this familiarity. The hidden smiles, sneaking touches, and flirting banter.

Clarke chuckles, “Wow, real smooth,” and plants a kiss on Lexa’s cheek, “just go.”

A drop-down white screen and projector serve as the media and the girls have taken a seat on the open, carpeted floor. Most have dragged their pillows and blankets from the dorms, Clarke included. It looks like a mass sleepover.

“Here,” Lexa returns with a bag of Skittles and M&M’s and plops it on top of their small pile of junk food—popcorn, Hot Cheetos, Sour Patch Kids, and Red Vines.

Lexa sits, crossed-legged, as the movie starts and automatically, Clarke lays down on her lap with the added cushion of a pillow. As much as Lexa wants to snuggle with Clarke, they are surrounded by their teammates and a mid-movie make-out fest will not go unnoticed. Lexa has _some_ decency left. Plus, Lexa is legitimately interested in the movie and turns her attention to the screen. She hasn’t seen _Miracle_ and has only heard good things about it.  

Under the blanket, Lexa traces Clarke’s right arm, sometimes wandering back up to play with Clarke’s hair; she’s become accustomed to the feeling of Clarke over the past few days. Everything has been perfect. Finally, Lexa settles her touch at Clarke’s waist and Clarke puts her hand on top of Lexa’s, interlacing fingers.

Halfway through the movie, Clarke begins to _guide_ Lexa’s hand under her shirt. This is new. So far, all they’ve done is make-out, and Lexa swallows a nervous gulp. Clarke’s skin is soft and _warm_ and Lexa splays her hand across the blonde’s tummy. Clarke leans back with a steep breath only Lexa hears, encouraging Lexa’s hand up.

Lexa is now groping atop of Clarke’s sports bra and pebbled peaks raise against the fabric. Lexa’s never touched anybody else’s breast but her own, and how _soft_ Clarke’s are takes her aback. It makes her want to handle them delicately. Slowly, Lexa brushes her thumb over Clarke’s right nipple and Clarke bites down a hiss.

Lexa wants to look down, witness the expression on Clarke’s face, but keeps her eyes forward on the movie. Seeking more contact and throwing decency out the window, Lexa shifts her hand under the elastic band of Clarke’s sports-bra and brushes over that same nipple. It draws a gasping moan from Clarke. A girl, Emily, a few feet in front of Lexa turns her head and Lexa freezes. They must still appear innocent enough because Emily turns back around.

Lexa leans down into Clarke’s right ear, giggling a, “Sshhh... ”

Clarke shifts and locks eyes with Lexa, “Don’t expect me not to get you back after this…”

“What? You started it.”

Lexa responds with another thumbing brush of Clarke’s nipple and this time, gets the watch the look on Clarke’s face as she closes her eyes at the sensation. Lexa particularly likes the way Clarke chews on her lower lip. Testing the waters, Lexa brings her forefinger across and takes the nipple into a pinching roll.

“Fuck…” escapes from Clarke.

“Shh…”

“Make me…”

Quietly, Lexa leans all the way down and takes Clarke’s lips in a soft and silent kiss. The kiss grows as Clarke brings her hand around the back of Lexa’s head and drives her tongue in. They’re kissing as slowly—as silently as possible, although Lexa’s sure she catches Emily scooting several feet forward in her peripheral. At least Clarke is smart enough to have picked a spot by the back corner—there’s no one behind them.

Lexa continues to twirl Clarke’s nipple and moves to the other. She feels Clarke flinch in her lap.

“Mm… sorry,” Lexa says, “did I hurt you?”

Clarke shakes her head, “No… it’s just… they’re… sensitive. Don’t stop.”

“Kay…” Lexa leans back down to recapture Clarke’s lips. She continues to fondle Clarke’s breasts in her right hand and it makes her head spin. Lexa doesn’t know what to compare them to and certainly not her own.

Clarke makes little moaning noises into her mouth, trying her best to keep quiet. The audio from the movie helps mask their gliding of tongues, the wet slippery slopping and smacking of lips. Tired of her one-handed juggle, Lexa snakes her left hand under the blanket and across Clarke’s chest. Lexa reaches for the elastic and pulls up on Clarke’s sport-bra, letting Clarke’s boobs fall out.

Clarke moans with and tightens her grip on Lexa’s hair, pulling the brunette further down. Lexa’s thick, wavy hair falls all around them as she cups both of Clarke’s breasts, carefully fondling one in each hand.

This is by far the most sexual thing Lexa has ever done, alongside the _dirtiest_ thing in public. She’s a good student and has been teased in the past for being, well, a nerd. If it isn’t for her athleticism in hockey, she suspects to be further on the nerd-scale and an even easier target for bullying. But something about Clarke invigorates her, fuels the flame and all Lexa wants to do is set everything afire. She feels crazy out of control, kneading and plucking at Clarke’s nipples until Clarke is squirming in her lap.

Suddenly, the lights flicker on and Lexa immediately leans up. The movie is over. Already? Lexa looks down and Clarke’s pupils are wide and hungry. Slowly shifting, Clarke reaches up to pull her sports bra back down as girls shuffle to gather their things.

“Alright ladies,” says Coach at the front of the room. “You get an extra hour of sleep tomorrow.”

A wave of sighing reliefs and “yes” echo.

“After breakfast, we’ll be meeting at the front of the dorms. Buses are taking us up to the high-ropes course. And remember to bring your swimsuits.”

Lexa vaguely remembers reading about this for the weekend. The camp included a visit to a high-ropes course and lakefront obstacle course, one of the most appealing aspects of this particular camp. “Team-building” they call it, because almost all obstacles required a team effort to get everyone through.

“Aw fuck,” Clarke says, as she balls up her blanket and pillow. Her hair is a mess.

“What?”

“I hate the high-ropes courses,” Clarke replies.

“Why?”

“Um… I don’t exactly like heights…”

Lexa reaches to thread her fingers into Clarke’s hair, taming some of the wildness down. Contrary to Clarke, Lexa loves heights. She had spent many days in her youth climbing trees and broken an arm once, but it still doesn’t keep her off.

“Why not?”

They link hands on the mosey back to the dorms.

“Well, this one time, when I was little, my parents took us one of those little planes. Puddle jumpers or whatever. And halfway in the air, it had engine problems, started plummeting and I thought I was going to die. But then pilot fix it—somehow—and everything was fine. I’m sure it only lasted a few seconds but felt like forever to me.”

Lexa brings her arm around Clarke’s shoulder and squeezes her in. “I’m sorry. You must have been terrified.”

“Oh trust me, I was. I still refuse to fly.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I won’t get on a plane,” Clarke says, pursing her lips. “I’m all about the trains.”

They reach Lexa’s door first, but Lexa makes no move to separate herself from the blonde, and instead crowds Clarke against the door for a nuzzling kiss. Then another, and before Lexa knows it, she’s driving her tongue back into Clarke’s mouth.

“Ahem!”

“Oh shit, Rae!” Clarke exhales.

“So, am I allowed into my room or…”

Lexa can see the hesitance in Clarke’s eyes, unwilling the part. “How ‘bout I trade rooms with you Rae? Just for the weekend?”

“What?”

“Please?” Clarke says. “Plus you owe me for all those times you and Finn—”

“Done,” Raven cuts. “Say no more, give me your key.”

“Yes… thank you!”

“Just, let me grab my some of my stuff,” Raven says.

On Raven’s way out, Clarke plants a big kiss on Raven’s cheek. “Best friend ever.”

“Mm-hm, I’d say use a condom, but… you know,” Raven teases and makes her way down the hallway.

Clarke practically tackles Lexa onto the bed after Raven leaves.

“Fuck Lexa, you had me so hot and bothered back there,” says Clarke, straddling and kissing Lexa.

“Um… sorry?”

“Don’t be sorry,” Clarke says and pulls her own shirt overhead.

“Woah, Clarke um… what—”

“I want you,” Clarke says, and locks eyes with Lexa.

Lexa knows Clarke is a virgin. They both are.

“Um… Clarke I—I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

“I don’t care—I just want it to be you. Is… that okay?”

Lexa would give the world to Clarke if she could. And when Clarke looks at her with begging blue eyes, Lexa crumbles. She can’t believe this is happening—the girl of her dreams is asking to have sex _with_ her.

Slowly, Lexa nods. “Yes. Um—what do you want, Clarke?”

“I have no idea, just—just touch me. Anywhere.”

Lexa nods again, plants her hands back on Clarke’s hips and leans back in to kiss her. Clarke reaches around and tugs on Lexa’s t-shirt. Lexa helps her, pulling her shirt off and reconnecting lips. Gradually, Lexa inches her way up Clarke’s sides, runs her thumbs underneath Clarke’s bra and lifts it overhead.

Clarke’s breast fall out much like they did earlier, but this time, presenting themselves in Lexa’s face. Call it instinct, but the first thing Lexa does is take Clarke’s nipple into her mouth in a slow, lapping suck.

Clarke moans, loud and Lexa knows she must be doing something right. Lexa takes her time, mapping Clarke’s bosom with her tongue—left to right, right to left, until Clarke is grinding down into her.

“More, Lex—I want more,” Clarke says, and reaches to pull Lexa’s own sports bra off. Lexa raises her arms as the last of her upper garment is removed and pulls Clarke in for a tight hug. The hot feeling of chest to chest is phenomenal.

“Mmmm… fuck you feel good, Lexa.”

Lexa has no words, just actions as she kisses back up Clarke’s chest and reuniting their mouths. They kiss some more until Clarke sits up and pushes down on the waistband of her own shorts and underwear. It’s not elegant and nothing like the smooth and sexy images depicted in movies, because Clarke looses her balances the topples sideways.

“Oh shit,” Clarke half-yelps, half-laughs, grabbing onto Lexa’s shoulders and pulling the brunette down with her.

Lexa laughs, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine, just—” Clarke struggles with wigging down her bottoms. “I need these off.”

Lexa leans back to help her, taking Clarke’s shorts by the waistband and slowly, begins to slide everything down. This moment will forever be seared in Lexa’s mind as her eyes land on the first naked girl before her—naked Clarke before her. Lexa’s sure the look on her face is pure stupidity, but she doesn’t care, drinking in the apex of Clarke’s legs, her cute tummy, and generous breasts.

Clarke is doing that lip biting thing again, and—almost shyly—quirks her eyebrows at Lexa’s shorts. Lexa reaches for her own waistband and strips herself of the remainder of her clothing. Their eyes stay connected throughout the process and Lexa crawls her way back up Clarke and presses their bodies flush. There is no expression for the pure _warmth_ of bare skin on skin. It’s overwhelming and Lexa’s doesn’t know where to start, so she goes back to what she has learned. Kissing Clarke, slow and languid, because Lexa doesn’t want to rush this. But Clarke’s rocking hips are telling her something else, plus Clarke is starting to whimper and _mewl._

“Lexa—baby…”

The nerd in Lexa wishes for a set of instructions for this—there should be. Maybe she should have watched some porn, Lexa has never. Lexa stops thinking when Clarke partly spreads her legs, and wraps her left leg around the back of Lexa’s right thigh. A slick of hot, wetness touches Lexa’s upper thigh.

“Fuck… Clarke…”

Lexa leans into it, pressing her thigh down—just a little bit, and it draws a deep moan from the blonde. “Mmm yeah, that feels _good.”_

Sex is messy—Lexa’s decided. Really fucking messy because Clarke is _all over_ her thigh and Lexa herself is practically dripping onto Clarke. They’ve been kissing and grinding non-stop, not to mention the groping and sucking of breasts until Clarke takes hold of Lexa’s hand and guides it down between them. “Please, Lex…”

This is the part Lexa’s most nervous about, she can only guess it’s like masturbating—but for someone else. Right? Except Lexa doesn’t masturbate that often so that thought is easily thrown. But Clarke continues to guide Lexa down, and when Lexa reaches Clarke’s slick folds, brushing it with her fingertips, Clarke sucks in a steep gulp. Her blue eyes shut and mouth falls agape.

Lexa goes back to kissing Clarke before she starts feeling around, navigating folds and flesh. She feels inept, reaching like a blind person until Clarke puts her hand on top of hers and presses Lexa fingers on a small, wound bundle and traces Lexa’s fingers in circles. In all honestly, Clarke is mostly masturbating using Lexa’s fingers. Whatever, it’s hot as fuck.

Lexa catches on quickly, and Clarke lets go, running her hands up and across Lexa’s shoulders.

“Mm… just like that Lex, fuck yes… yes…”

Curiosity (or bravery) gets the best of Lexa, because she begins to slide her middle finger down and gradually, presses a single finger _into_ Clarke. Lexa watches in awe as Clarke’s eyes flutter open and stare into Lexa’s eyes as she does so.

It’s warm, and tight, and also _really_ soft. Clarke’s wetness is practically sucking her in, and carefully, Lexa adds a second finger.

“Oh… fuck… Jesus…” Clarke moans.

“Is—is this okay?” Lexa whispers, peppering kisses around Clarke’s neck.

“Yeah… just, go slow.”

Obliging, Lexa begins to drag her fingers in and out of Clarke, going slightly deeper with each push. Clarke starts to rock with Lexa’s rhythm and they find a comfortable pace. But soon, Clarke moans are getting louder and she’s grinding faster.

“Fuck Lex, don’t stop… don’t stop.”

Lexa has no intention in hell of stopping, but also has no idea what else Clarke needs. Lexa vaguely recalls the “G-spot,” she’s unfamiliar with how to find it or what it’s supposed to feel like. But, right now, as she’s knuckle deep in the first girl of her life, it’s beyond worth a try. So, Lexa aimless curls her fingers, putting pressure on the front of Clarke’s walls with each thrust until Clarke screams.

“Oh fuck, right there! Right there, Lex!”

Clarke’s back arches off the bed and lets out a _long_ groan. A hot splash of wetness hits Lexa’s fingertips and Clarke’s walls clench down around her fingers. Unsure of what to do, Lexa keeps going.

“Oh my fucking god—fuck!” Clarke keeps moaning, so Lexa keeps going.

“Okay, okay, stop.”

Lexa freezes, afraid she did something wrong, and pulls her fingers out. “Are you okay?”

Clarke’s breaths a hard and ragged and she struggles to speak with a hand over her face.

“Fine… fine… totally fine, just…” Clarke continues to take deep breaths, “I think I totally just came.”

“Oh. That’s—That’s good, right?”

“S’good… mmmmmm….” Clarke is apparently still in an aftershock of euphoria and rolls her face into the groove of Lexa’s neck. “Just… mmm… just lay with me.”

“Okay,” Lexa nods and rolls off Clarke and onto her side. Lexa wants to sweep the stray hairs from Clarke’s sweated brow, but her right hand is starting to feel… sticky. Lexa kind of wants to… lick them—taste Clarke, but in fear of embarrassment, leaves her hand at her own side.

After a few minutes, Clarke stirs and props herself up on an elbow, smiling.

“Hi…”

Lexa chuckles, “Hi, Clarke.”

Clarke has a suspicious twinkle in her eyes as she brings her hand to trace across Lexa’s abdomen. “Can I um… touch you, too?”

Lexa nods, “Yeah.”

Grinning, Lexa watches as Clarke tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and leans down to take Lexa’s nipple in her mouth. Lexa lets out a small hiss, her chest rises unexpectedly at the sensation of Clarke’s tongue lapping over her tit.

Lexa wouldn’t have guessed this is Clarke’s first time, because Clarke is doing everything with lots of purpose. Clarke’s hands roam where they want, Clarke’s mouth roams where it wants. Stealing kisses, marking Lexa across her chest, the underside of her boob.

“God—you’re so fucking hot, I just want to do everything to you…” Clarke says. “Except I have no idea what I’m doing, you have to tell me if I’m doing something wrong.”

“Clarke… you’re—” Lexa struggles to catch her breath. “You’re doing just fine, just—don’t stop.”

There’s a comfort in figuring this out together. A first of firsts that no one can take away from them.

“Okay—I just, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Clarke, you could never hurt me,” Lexa replies and pulls Clarke down for another kiss.

This time, it’s Clarke’s turn to drag her hand south and slips her fingers between Lexa’s legs. It’s a very vulnerable feeling—to let someone else touch you, but Lexa feels safe in Clarke’s company. She wonders if Clarke felt the same way.

Clarke plays on the outside, swirls her fingertips around Lexa’s clit much like Lexa did her. It’s a mirror image as Lexa feels Clarke slowly push into her. It feels good, and Lexa urges Clarke for more. An overwhelming sensation rises with each of Clarke’s thrusts, it builds and builds until Lexa can’t stand it.

“Fuck Clarke!”

For the first time in her life, Lexa comes. It feels like she’s bursting in every direction with every fiber of her body taut. All she can do is squeeze her eyes shut and on grip onto the blonde above her. A moan she’s never experienced rips from throat and Clarke is there to capture it. Kissing Lexa through her orgasm until Lexa has to tear away for oxygen.

Lexa flops back, pelted in sweat and surrounded by Clarke.

“Did you um… did you come?” Clarke asks.

“I think so… cause it doesn’t feel like I want anymore.”

“Oh good, cause that was hot as fuck babe—and I um… I need you to do me again.”

Lexa looks up.

“Is um— is that okay?” Clarke says.

There’s a pink flush in Clarke’s cheeks, like she’s embarrassed to ask. Lexa smiles at Clarke’s innocent nervousness.

“That’s definitely okay, c’mere.”

They continue with several more rounds, both losing count as they explore each other and their sexuality. Lexa’s not sure when, but at some point, they surrender to exhaustion and curl underneath the blankets. Clarke is tucked snugly under her chin as wisps of air ebb and flow from across her neck.

“Lexa?”

“Mn?”

“I’m glad… you’re the one.”

Lexa gives Clarke a tight squeeze, “ _You’re_ the one.”

“G’night, Lexa.”

“G’night, Clarke.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That escalated way faster than I wanted it to. Sometimes these characters write themselves.


	7. Thumper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So this fic was in dire need of an update before it got away from me. Enjoy!

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

A heavy knock on the door wakes Clarke and Lexa, bundled up naked together after their first night—their first time—together.

Again. THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

“Hey! Lovebirds!” It’s Raven on the other side of the door. “Wake the fuck up! You’re gonna be late! The bus is going to leave bitches!”

“Oh shit!” Clarke springs out of bed, reaching for her articles of clothing that litter the floor. “Fuck, it’s almost eight.” The bus leaves for the obstacle course at eight. Clarke yells through the door. “Be right there Rae! Tell the driver to wait!” 

A beam of sunlight shines between the blinds and it is hitting Lexa directly in the eyes. Grimacing, Lexa checks the time on the nightstand. 7:52 A.M.

In seconds, Clarke is clothed in the bare minimum, a shirt and shorts with everything else—shoes, socks, and undergarments—balled up in her arms. “I gotta go change—and don’t forget your swimsuit for the lake.” And just before Clarke bolts out the door, she plants a kiss on Lexa’s cheek. “Meet you outside.”

The door slams shut and Lexa blinks as her memories from last night surface. She grins; she and Clarke had _sex_. A lot of it. Usually, Lexa is a punctual person and hates being late. But, the fact that she will be late this morning doesn’t upset her whatsoever. Swiftly, Lexa slips out of bed and dresses for the day at the high ropes course, a tank top and shorts. A shower would have been nice, but she clearly doesn’t have the time. Plus, they’ll be spending part of the day swimming in a lake, mitigating the need to shower. After brushing her teeth, Lexa packs a swimsuit and towel and is out the door by 8:02 A.M.

“Hey!” Clarke greets Lexa just outside her door with a wide and goofy grin. “Ready?”

Lexa nods, smiling, and Clarke easily takes her hand, interlacing fingers in a brisk pace towards the bus where Raven is doing a superb job of holding open the doors, arguing with the bus driver to wait just one more minute.

“Please, just wait!” Raven says, straddling the last bus step and cement, barring the bus doors from closing. “Oh look! They’re right there! Hurry up!”

Clarke and Lexa make a small break for the bus, stepping on as the driver closes the door.

“Thanks, Rae,” Clarke says.

As Clarke and Lexa walk down the aisle, some of the girls stare as they make way towards the back where a couple of vacant seats remain. Lexa anticipates the feeling of embarrassment from the added attention, but it never comes and instead, pride. Lexa has never felt this way about someone, has never been with a girl like Clarke, and the notion is empowering.

“Hey, Clarke,” Lexa says behind the blonde.

Clarke turns around, “Wha—mpppphhhh— ”

Lexa cups Clarke’s face and smashes their lips together, kissing Clarke in the middle of the bus, tongue and all. Everyone is staring—until they’re not and eyes drift out the windows.

“Ladies, bus is moving!” The bus driver shouts. “For your safety, please take a seat!”

Lexa lets go of Clarke’s face; blue eyes are blown wide from the sudden rush and Clarke struggles to balance as the bus accelerates forward, stumbling into the final rows. Clarke slides into a seat, scooting to the window and Lexa follows.

“What was that for, Lex?” Clarke asks, combing down her hair and tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

Lexa shrugs, smiling. “Just felt like kissing you.”

Clarke smirks with eyes darting down at Lexa’s lips. They meet in the middle, reacquainting mouths and start kissing again in the back of the bus. Lexa manages _some_ restraint, resisting the urge to shove her hands under Clarke’s shirt and instead, gropes over her clothes. Although, the thought that she’s already touched Clarke excites her; she wants to do it again, spend hours rolling around naked.

“Mm—wanna touch you again…” Lexa mumbles, giving Clarke’s inner thigh a gentle squeeze and Clarke giggles. It’s absolutely adorable and Lexa swears she’s in love. Sixteen and hopelessly in love. She wonders if it’s like this for everyone: the simple sight of Clarke tugs at her heart, makes her stomach flip, and soul ache. Clarke’s so shockingly gorgeous, it hurts to look at her.

“I feel like the luckiest person in the world.”

The words come from Clarke’s mouth and Lexa’s smile broadens. “I was just thinking the same thing,” Lexa replies.

They spend the entire transit kissing until the bus brakes squeak to a stop, doors hiss open, and Clarke and Lexa break, both breathless. They file out with the other girls, stepping onto a parking lot that faces one of Minnesota’s thousand lakes. There’s a pier that extends out fifty yards and floating on the water are several, large inflatable obstacles.

“Aw, cool…” Lexa murmurs. There’s nothing like this back home in Washington, DC. At least not in the city. Between school field trips and visiting family, Lexa has been to the memorials and museums more times than she can count. But this—the open fields, trees, and waterfront is breathtaking.

The girls gather and are instructed to pair up for the morning. Automatically, Clarke and Lexa link hands and the day commences with the high ropes course.

/

“Do you trust me?” Lexa asks, tethering herself to Clarke in a trust-fall type exercise.

“It’s not about trust, Lexa. I am legitimately afraid of heights,” Clarke replies. “I’ve already told you the story.”

“Then why’d you come, you had the option to stay back?”

“Because I like the lake. The inflatable slide is fun and I wanted to hang out with my friends…and with you,” Clarke says, teetering on her toes. “You can go up there, but I won’t.”

In this climbing challenge, one person climbs to the top of the wall and once at the top, releases their hold for the other person on the ground to slowly lower or safely belay them back down.

“Even if I get up there—I won’t be able to let go—it’s embarrassing, Lexa. My first year here, the coach had to come up and get me. I got stuck halfway, too scared to keep climbing up and even more afraid to let go, and he had to link me onto his line and pry my hands off.”

Raven barks a laugh, overhearing the conversation. “True that. Good luck convincing Clarke to go. That year, it took the coach thirty minutes to get her down. They _almost_ called the fire department for a ladder.” Raven then makes a meowing noise as if Clarke were a cat stuck in a tree.

“Shut the fuck up Rae,” Clarke replies.

Suddenly, it pangs at Lexa, feeling overprotective of the blonde and wanting to shelter her instead. Take Clarke home, wrap her arms around her, and hold her snug.

“It’s okay, Clarke,” Lexa says. “I’ll go as long as you promise not to let me plunge straight to the ground.”

Clarke smiles—clearly thankful that Lexa doesn’t push the issue. “Of course not. I happen to be the most trustworthy person here. Ask Raven.”

“Oh, is that so?”

Clarke nods, “You’re lucky I even agreed to be your partner because I’m the best belayer and people are typically lined up to partner with me. Usually, I partner with Raven and not once have I ever dropped her.”

“Also, true!” Raven shouts as she starts her ascent. Today, she is partnered with Octavia.

“Then I really must be lucky—I didn’t even have to wait?” Lexa says.

“Mm-mn,” Clarke shakes her head.

Lexa leans closer to Clarke’s ear, “Although… I’d wait a hundred years for you…”

This earns Lexa a blush from Clarke; Lexa has never experienced this effect on someone and Clarke tips inward, hiding her face against Lexa’s shoulder. “Stop it, Lex… you’re making me blush.”

Lexa presses her lips into Clarke’s hair, not quite kissing the top of Clarke’s head in the open field—not that it matters after their display on the bus. “Yeah, but you’re so cute when you do…” Lexa murmurs.

Clarke’s lips are pursed together when she leans away, and she tugs the straps of Lexa’s climbing harness tight. “Just go, so we can be done with this—I wanna go swimming.”

With a single hop, Lexa grabs onto the first of many grips that line the climbing wall. She’s as natural a climber as she is a skater, easily scaling the sidewall as if she were Kassandra herself, or at least a descendant of the famed Spartan mercenary. At the top, Lexa rings the bell before turning to make eye contact with Clarke on the ground, nodding to the blonde that she’s ready to be let down.

Clarke wasn’t lying; she is an excellent belayer and the moment Lexa lets go of the wall, Clarke works the line with precision, smoothly lowering Lexa down to the ground.

“On to the next then?” Lexa asks, unclipping herself and passing the main line to the following two girls.

“Yep,” Clarke nods ahead and they continue to the high ropes course situated along the treetops. Lexa clicks herself in while Clarke comfortably observes from the ground.

Lexa _really_ likes the high ropes; the course is high enough to cause her adrenaline to trickle despite the safety harness in case she slips. Skillfully, Lexa makes it across some of the more difficult passes that challenge her upper body strength and where her smaller frame comes in at an advantage counter to hockey.

“You’re doing great, Lex!” Clarke gives Lexa a thumbs up from the ground. It’s a slight understatement as Lexa is beginning to catch up to some of the girls who had gone in front of her.

“Thanks!” Lexa yells back down. “I grew up with a treehouse—oomph!” Lexa leaps over a large gap and snags a dangling rope, swinging across to another rope that leads her to a crow’s nest-like structure at the highest point of the obstacle.

“Ahh!” Clarke screams _for_ her on the ground. “Jesus, Lexa, I didn’t think you’d get that.”

“S’fine, Clarke. Plus I have the safety line linked,” Lexa replies, going hand-over-hand and ascending to the top.

“Yeah, but there’s also like three feet of safety-slack so you’ll be weightless for a few seconds before it catches.” Clarke shudders from the thought—reminded of her brief plummet to earth when she was on a small plane that experienced a few seconds of engine problems, consequently traumatizing her for life.

Lexa simply shrugs as she swings her legs over the edge of the crow’s nest, rings the bell at the top just because before making her descent. What normally takes the average person upwards of two hours, Lexa finishes in just over an hour. The course record is forty-five minutes and fifty-six seconds, which is posted in large numbers on an old-school black chalkboard.  

“Wow, Lex—did you want to go again and try to beat that record?” Clarke asks as Lexa’s feet hit the ground.

With her competitive spirit, Lexa would have pursued the record any other day—she could have spent all day up in the trees—but, feels bad for Clarke, waiting idly on the ground.

“No.” Lexa shakes her head and begins unclipping her harness. “We can go swimming like you’ve been wanting.”

/

“Cannonball!” Raven yells at the top of her lungs, leaping off the top of the inflatable slide and creating a big splash that interrupts Clarke and Lexa’s brief kissing session. They’re sitting on a floating, wooden platform and it’s now late in the afternoon. The sun sits on the horizon, creating a comfortable warmth contrast to the chilly lake water and most of the girls are starting to get out and dry off. Evidence of last night spot their bodies, something neither thought about at the time, but obvious marks show on their necks, tops of breasts, and stomach. Marks that Clarke doesn’t remember giving—or receiving.

Markings aside, Lexa looks _good_ in a bathing suit and Clarke’s eyes have been drinking Lexa in since they stripped down to bathing suits. Contrast to the darkened room last night, Lexa’s skin glows. She is perfectly fit, lean and small. So much so that Clarke feels self-conscious sitting next to Lexa. Growing up, Clarke has always been bigger, bulkier, with lots of baby-fat and chubby cheeks compared to other girls. Except her baby-fat has seemingly followed her to teenage years. Sure, it’s advantageous in hockey when pound-for-pound, she is stronger on ice than most, winning individual battles for the puck and giving her the competitive advantage. But out here, in a two-piece, Clarke shrinks into herself a little. Curling her knees up to her chest while Lexa sits open and lazy, arms propping her up, midsection exposed, and feet dangling in the water.

“You’re so pretty, Clarke,” Lexa says and leans up to place a kiss on Clarke’s cheek. “Perfect—actually.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “I am not perfect, Lexa.”

“You are to me.”

Clarke grins and her cheeks burn between the smiling and kissing. It’s been like this all day. Smiles and kisses, praise and hugs, whispers and nuzzles. This is the summer Clarke with _never_ forget. As happy as it makes her, just like the sun, the summer is bound to set. It’s crossed Clarke’s mind, but she’s too afraid to make mention of their expiring time. She doesn’t want to ruin the moment; Lexa is basking in the sun with a gorgeous mane of hair cascading across her shoulders. A pair of sunglasses shade her green eyes and Lexa leans back all the way, laying flat on the floating platform.

“Mm—it’s so nice here,” Lexa murmurs. “You do this every summer?” Lexa asks, poking her eyes under the brim of her sunglasses.

Clarke nods, “Mm-hm,” and rolls onto all fours, crawling halfway across Lexa and resting her chin on her hands atop Lexa’s stomach. “I’ve been to this camp since I was 12, but we have lakes all over. My parents have a boat and we usually go out fishing.” Clarke smiles. “Summer is my favorite.”

Clarke _knows_ she shouldn’t say it but hope edges out her fear. “Would you—um, would you be coming back next summer, Lexa?”

A beat of silence and Clarke’s heart drops in the interim; Lexa chews on her lower lip, clearly struggling for an answer.

“I—I’d have to ask my dad… it’s up to him…”

“Do you want to come back?”

Lexa tips her gaze down and lifts her sunglasses. “Clarke. I don’t want to leave at all.” She leans forward and presses her mouth onto Clarke’s. “Let’s just—enjoy the time we have?” Lexa murmurs against Clarke’s lips.

They spend the remainder of the afternoon kissing on the dock until the sun begins to dip below the mountains, producing an orange glow off the water. A comfortable summer breeze blows, and their friends are calling them in from shore. It’s time to head back to hockey camp.

Clarke and Lexa are inseparable; when they’re not kissing and hugging, they’re holding hands, constantly touching in some shape or form. On the return bus ride, they retire to the back where Clarke tucks her head underneath Lexa’s chin and hugs her close. Is it possible to fall in love in a single day? Because this feels like magic, a casting of a spell or an arrow direct from Cupid. Clarke peppers kisses on the underside the Lexa’s jaw—what her snuggled position affords her to reach—until Lexa dips her head down to kiss her. Lexa’s kisses are soft and warm, and no matter how many times they’ve kissed today, it leaves Clarke aching for more. From the brush of Lexa’s lips to the flickers of her tongue, Lexa does everything right and Clarke can spend the rest of eternity like this.

Unfortunately, Clarke is reminded of reality when the bus comes to a squeaky stop as they return to campus, dropped off at the front of their dormitories. Trading rooms with Raven for the rest of hockey camp goes unsaid; Raven is the _best_ friend, already packing her clothes into her duffle.

“OMG Rae, you are the best.”

“I know… I know…” Raven says, exiting the room. Clarke considers offering Raven her car for a weekend as a thank you. But those thoughts are quickly pushed aside when the doors close and Lexa is _there._ A hunger Clarke hasn’t seen emanates from her eyes; dark, half-mast, devious even. Lexa crowds her towards the bed, landing on top of her before taking Clarke’s lips between hers. Moaning, Clarke threads her hands deep into Lexa’s hair, matching Lexa’s pace beat-for-beat. Gradually, Lexa begins grinding down, angling her pelvis against Clarke’s clit. It has Clarke canting and rolling her hips. Warm hands crawl under her shirt, drifting over midsection before inching down to her waistband. Lexa pauses.

“Clarke, um—do you wanna do it again?” Lexa asks in a mumble against her lips.

Clarke is taking off her shirt before she’s nodding. “I wanna do everything with you.”

Lexa smiles. “Okay.”

Together, they take off their clothes, stripping down to nothing and bare skin meets bare skin.

“Mm… you feel so good, Lexa,” Clarke whispers, hugging Lexa with her legs wrapped around Lexa’s waist.

Lexa murmurs some form of acknowledgment but is preoccupied kissing her way down Clarke’s chest, moving with purpose and much more certainty compared to last night. Clarke bites a hiss when Lexa takes her left nipple into her mouth, sucking it stiff and hard before licking and swirling her tongue around the very tip. Then, Lexa switches to the opposite nipple giving it equal attention. Her movements are slow and savory, alternating between gentle suckles and thick, laving passes that drive Clarke to the brink of insanity.

“God… Lex, you’re having too much fun with that…” Clarke pants. Her chest is heaving, her body squirming, and her clit is _on fire._ Clarke doesn’t realize she could throb like this—it almost hurts.

“Oh,” Lexa looks up. “Sorry—it just seemed like you were really enjoying it. I mean, I am too.”

“I am, Lex—but—” In lieu of words, Clarke rocks her pelvis up, “—needing a little more here.”

Except there’s hesitation in Lexa’s eyes; Clarke doesn’t understand why.

“What’s wrong?”

Green eyes rove for a few seconds. “I—um… is it okay, if I try something else? Different than last night?”

“What do you mean?”

Lexa’s mouth hangs open, struggling to phrase her words and Clarke darts her an expectant look of _well?_

“Can I—” Lexa’s eyes drift downwards, “—lick it?”

“Oh.” Clarke’s never been asked this—and wasn’t expecting to be—but slowly, she nods, giving Lexa permission to descend between her legs. Halfway, Clarke’s grip tightens in Lexa’s hair. “Wait.”

Lexa stops and looks up with puppy-sad-eyes as if Clarke is about to deprive her of dinner.

“Just—go slow,” Clarke says, unsure of what to expect.

“Oh.” The corners of Lexa’s lips curl into a broad smile. “Okay, I can go slow.”

Kisses plant their way down Clarke’s belly, her inner thighs, and the apex of her legs. She feels _very exposed_ and ponders what it actually looks like down there, afraid that Lexa might change her mind after catching a glimpse. But it doesn’t look like Lexa’s going anywhere and stops to ask one more time.

“Are—you ready?”

Clarke peers down at the sight of Lexa between her legs and nods. Lexa breaks eye contact but Clarke continues to watch as Lexa slowly sticks out her tongue and leans in. Clarke’s grip tightens in brown tresses, her other hand fisting the sheets when a _warm_ and _soft_ sensation envelopes her.

“Oh… shit…” Clarke lets out a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. It only gets warmer and Clarke’s head falls back with her eyes rolling back. “Oh fuck… I can’t believe this is happening…”

It feels _so_ good and Clarke begins to rock her hips and suddenly, it’s too slow. Lexa is taking her sweet time, doing whatever the fuck she’s doing, and Clarke can’t stand it, immediately regretting her request for Lexa to ‘go slow’.

“Faster, Lex, faster…”

And _god_ , Lexa abides, speeding up her movements that has Clarke keening. The pressure builds and builds and builds until every muscle in her body is taut. Clarke is ready to explode. She’s sure she has a death grip in Lexa’s hair, though unsure how Lexa is breathing because her face is _buried._

“God fuck, Lexa! Don’t stop!”

Lexa doesn’t stop, and if anything, she speeds up—sucks harder, licks faster, or combination of—and Clarke comes completely undone. Lexa’s name rips from her throat, her legs snap shut with back arching off the mattress. Her body shudders before freezing and too soon is Lexa’s mouth overwhelming and Clarke gives Lexa’s head a meaningful tug.

“What—” Lexa is gasping for air. “Was that it?”

“Mmm… baby that was so good…”

“But—but I’m not done.” Lexa says this while licking the corner of her lips.

“But I came.”

“Do you—wanna come again?”

“Oh…” Clarke didn’t consider that. “Yeah, I do.”

But when Lexa returns, it’s too much and Clarke flinches. “Sorry,” Clarke says. “It’s like… really sensitive. I don’t really know…”

Lexa is seemingly just as lost. “Maybe… we should wait a little bit?”

It sounds like a good plan and Clarke nods, reaching for Lexa. “Come snuggle?”

As Lexa crawls up her body, a light shimmer coats Lexa’s mouth. Curious, Clarke swipes her thumb at the corner of Lexa’s mouth. “What um—what does it taste like?”

Lexa snickers, “Like heaven.”

“Pff—shut up,” Clarke laughs, giving Lexa’s shoulder a light whack. “No really… I was um… nervous.”

Lexa leans in _close_. Their noses brush and Clarke can smell herself. “Here,” Lexa says in a low and teasing drawl and Clarke takes the bait, tipping her head up to kiss herself from Lexa’s mouth. It’s more intimate than Clarke anticipated, sharing like this and it has Clarke thinking about the way Lexa tastes. With Lexa in her mouth.

“Um—can I taste you too?” Clarke asks.

With’s Lexa’s nod, Clarke rolls them around, straddling Lexa on her back. She starts with Lexa’s tits, they’re cute and perky and fit perfectly in her hand—and her mouth. It’s a split image of what Lexa did to her earlier, Clarke kissing as she descends, mapping Lexa’s body with her tongue until she’s between Lexa’s legs. Lexa is _wet_ , lips swollen and puffy, shimmering with arousal; Clarke’s not sure where to start. Whatever, she just goes for it and slowly leans in to lick a broad stripe up Lexa’s folds.

Lexa’s hisses with a shudder, fingers tightening her hair.

“Sorry… was that okay?” Clarke asks.

Lexa only nods gentling nudging Clarke’s head back down. Clarke does it again, licking up a stripe but stays her tongue, probing between soft flesh and doing her best to gauge Lexa’s moans and movements. Finally, she settles on continuous passes over the top of what must be Lexa’s clit. Lexa has begun gyrating her hips up into Clarke’s face and she wants to make Lexa come as hard as Lexa did her. So, Clarke increases her pace, flicking her tongue fast and hard over Lexa’s bundle of nerves that has Lexa trembling underneath her mouth. Clarke figured if it’s too much, Lexa would have stopped her by now. She wants Lexa to come so bad, licking as hard as she can, smothering her face until she _sucks._ That’s it. Lexa unravels before her, shaking hard with heels dig into her back. Clarke lets go with a soft pop when Lexa nudges briefly on her shoulders.

Lexa is beautiful. Sweat gleaming off her skin, more gorgeous than any sunset Clarke’s witnessed. Maybe Lexa wasn’t joking when she said heaven because Clarke is there now. She crawls up Lexa’s sleek body, dragging her tongue on her way until she reaches Lexa’s mouth. Clarke kisses Lexa with resolve, long and heavy because she never wants this to end. It’s barely been 24 hours and already, Lexa feels like home. A strong, familiar sense of belonging washes over her and before Clarke knows it, a teardrop falls from her eyes.

“Clarke? What’s wrong?”

Clarke shakes her head, embarrassed. “Nothing. I just— nothing…”

Lexa doesn’t buy it with a quizzical look on her face, but she doesn’t push and simply nods, kissing the brief tears from Clarke’s cheeks. Clarke has a feeling Lexa knows. She must because Lexa rolls them back around, cradling Clarke’s body with care and comfort. Lexa whispers things, terms of endearment and Clarke’s never felt so loved. Three specific words threaten to spill from Clarke’s mouth, but she swallows them back down. Forces them into action instead, kissing and touching Lexa with everything she has. It goes on all night, coming undone in each other’s arms over and over again.

Skating practice at eight in the morning will be torturous because the clock reads just past five when their eyelids slip shut, bodies twisted into one another.

/

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

“Hey, fuckers!” Raven’s voice sounds through the door. “Wake the fuck up! You’re late!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI - I'll be traveling almost the entire month of November, so I won't have as much time to write/update. Thanks for reading!


	8. Only in Dreams

Clarke and Lexa are the last to get changed; they are last on the ice; and, most noticeably, they are last in every skating drill. Usually ahead of the pack, the two star-athletes lag behind with overworked quadriceps that burn in every stride. Neither has had the experience to adequately foresee such telling consequences; the entire camp batting semi-curious glances as both wince in pain with each staggering stride. If it isn’t already obvious enough that they’ve hooked up, any doubt, by anyone, is surely wiped clean.

“Fuck, my legs are sore,” Clarke says and looks over at Lexa. “Are yours?”

“Yes.” Lexa nods. “Particularly the inner thighs,” she says in a flat, sarcastic tone.

Clarke barks a laugh, full and hearty, and though it rings throughout the hollow of the ice rink for all to hear, Clarke and Lexa are in their own world together akin to sharing an inside joke. Mischief and mirth fill their eyes; they trade those fresh memories across looks, a chemical bookmark that exists only between them and no one else. Bottled tightly in their minds for forever safekeeping.

 _Tweet!_ The whistle blows for another lap and the couple is off.

It’s as if her skates are filled with lead and Clarke’s blades bite the ice with difficulty. Her stride is sloppy, and she knows it, chomping away with little grace but a whole lot of effort. She wants the morning skate to end—needs it to end—but part of her finds solace that Lexa is by her side, shoulder-to-shoulder, in an identical circumstance.

After a harrowing sixty minutes, the morning skate concludes and Clarke wobbles to the dining hall for breakfast. En route, her hand finds Lexa’s—or Lexa’s find hers—it’s difficult to tell who reached out first, but nevertheless, hold hands in a wordless transit. Lexa’s hands are slender and warm and although they’ve already touched Clarke all over, butterflies continue to flutter in her belly.

While Lexa makes soft circles with her thumb, Clarke’s hand pulses nervously, squeezing and releasing, only unclasping to carry their respective food trays prior to sitting. Also, Clarke’s left-handedness becomes an attribute of extreme convenience; they can hold hands under the table while eating. 

Situated on the left side of Clarke, Raven leans within a single earshot. “Are you… holding hands while eating?”

Nodding, Clarke grins and whispers something only a best friend is privy to. “I think I love her.” The words fall from her lips with ease; Clarke thinks little of the gravity of what she just said because it’s the first thing that comes spilling out, bypassed the mental filter of rhyme or reason, struggling to escape. To be known.

“Clarke…” Raven scrunches her brown in skepticism. “What are you going to do at the end of the week?”

Clarke shrugs. Ignores the merit in Raven’s question and reverts to the naïvety of her youth.

/

By the end of the week they know everything there is to know about each other. Favorite food, color, movie, music, and television; dislikes and pet-peeves; and cherished memories. For Clarke, this equates to memories of her late older brother: Chris.

“I remember the camping trips my dad use to take us on, Chris and I used to have s’more competitions and see who could make the tallest one without it falling over. Dad would yell at us for wasting all the s’more stuff.”

Clarke threads her fingers into Lexa’s, they are cuddling, snug and cozy in the bed at day’s end. Though they are fully clothed, it does little to hinder the intimacy of the moment. Hearts and memories laid bare for each other.

“I mean, we still go on camping trips. It’s just, not the same though—you know?”

Lexa nods, listening in patient silence.

“Chris and I used to share a sleeping bag, pillow, everything. He was my best friend and when he was old enough to receive an allowance, used to buy me candy. Then it was mom’s turn to yell when I got a bunch of cavities. Chris would hide candy under my pillow and stuff,” Clarke continues. She has never voiced this verbally to anyone. Raven knows Clarke’s stories by default, by being there as a witness to, but to tell it, formulate words and say aloud, Clarke finds herself in an incredibly vulnerable position. Yet, she feels safe with Lexa. Perhaps it’s because Lexa has lent herself to the same position of vulnerability; Clarke can’t image Lexa speaks of her late mother often.

“My earliest memories are of my mom. On the ice. I knew how to skate before I could tie my shoes. I can see her, knelt down and lacing up my white figure skates for me. Everything is white, from the ice to my outfit. The memory itself is blurry—sometimes I wish I could see her again.”

Clarke melts. “Awn, Lexa…” She cups Lexa’s face and presses a soft kiss onto her lips. “I’m sorry.”

Lexa nods and they continue talking about anything and everything for the remainder of the night. There is nothing they haven’t discussed. Nothing except for one thing. The subject they’ve yet to broach: The end of summer camp looming in less than 24 hours. Neither dare speak of parting as if the lack of mention will prevent the occurrence.

It’s not until Clarke’s hands are a stone grasp on Lexa’s shirt, tears threatening as Lexa’s bus for the airport circles the roundabout. Hours earlier, they treated the day like another ordinary day at camp, save for the celebratory pizza party that most of the girls felt too “old” for, skating and eating around the rink they’d practically lived in the past two weeks. The last day of camp is just that—the last day of camp. The dormitories are cleared, and gear bags mixed with suitcases wait for parents and buses.

“I guess—that’s me,” Lexa says. And when Clarke looks up, she observes a single tear fall from Lexa’s eye, watches it trickle down Lexa’s face and that does it for Clarke. Synonymous to the straw that broke the camel’s back, Clarke breaks down in a choking sob and buries her face into Lexa’s shoulder.

“Do you _have_ to leave now?” Clarke murmurs.

“Yes.” Lexa gulps. And Clarke only clings tighter, tight as she can, squeezing Lexa around the shoulders for all eternity. Curses her youth and inability to control the situation—their situation. An ultimate surrender to circumstance.

“Sshhhh…” Lexa does her best to try and soothe but it does little to tame Clarke’s messy sobs. The bouts come in waves, from heaving convulses to whimpering sniffles. The minutes are ticking and at the next lull, Lexa prompts Clarke to let go.

“Clarke…”

Slowly, Clarke unwraps her arms from a warmth she’s become too accustomed to. She avoids eye contact, but Lexa cradles her face and places a salt-tinged kiss on Clarke’s lips.

“I won’t say goodbye to you,” Lexa says. She is surprisingly composed and Clarke doesn’t know how Lexa is holding it together. Voice a low and calm timbre, betrayed only by the sadness glazing her eyes. “We’ll meet again. I know it.”

“How—when—” Clarke stutters at a loss. “I—”

“Write me.”

“Wha—?”

Lexa shoves a crinkled-up piece of paper in Clarke’s hands with what Clarke can only assume is her address. At least Lexa had some sort of contingency plan for maintaining contact while Clarke opted for sheer ignorance.

“Write me.”

///

Curious. To write? What about DM me or better yet, text me? Because neither have an iPhone. They haven’t been invented yet.

The year is 2004.

The first iPhone is to be released on June 29, 2007. Cell phones, in general, are not an average teenage possession, usually reserved for emergencies _if_ the household even had one. Instead, landlines dominated each and every home at one line per unit. The digital era of social media has yet to bloom. Facebook, for instance, will first begin as a platform serving only Harvard students. Then expand to collegiate students with .edu email address domains. It won’t be until September 26, 2006, that Mark Zuckerberg will open the social media site to the public.

///

Clarke clutches the paper in her hand as Lexa takes two reluctant steps backward, turns to shoulder her bag and walks toward the bus. Clarke feels paralyzed, a full body shock of what cannot be happening. It’s surreal and the past two weeks flash in an abbreviated movie reel: When she first laid eyes on Lexa; shaking her hand; their first kiss, second; sitting at the dock; the nights spent kissing and touching and tasting. It comes to a nauseating halt. Clarke wants to vomit and in seemingly slow motion, watches Lexa take her first step onto the airport bus.

“Lexa, wait!” Clarke shouts and runs at Lexa. She throws herself into Lexa’s arms for a final hug, grounding herself one last time. “I love you.”

Upon parting, Lexa swipes an errant strand of blonde affront Clarke’s eyes, tucks it neatly behind her ear and kisses her. Soft, warm and salty.

“I love you, too, Clarke.”

The words are murmured against Clarke’s lips and she stores the moment deep in her memory. Will treasure it more than anything she’s ever known. And just like that, there’s nothing else left to say and Clarke takes a step back from the bus. She is numb to the hiss of the doors closing, the churn of the engine, and squeal of the wheels as the bus rolls away with the other half of her soul.

Minutes after the bus disappears from sight, Clarke continues to stand. Still and dumbfounded. It’s not until the light brush of something—someone—touches her shoulder; Raven tentatively reaching for Clarke.  

“Clarke…?”

Clarke turns and she is spun back into harsh reality.

“Rae…” Automatically, Clarke falls into the embrace of her best friend. It feels _so_ different to be hugging someone else that’s not Lexa. Though it’s her best friend that Clarke has shared her entire childhood with, it is a useless bandaid on a gaping artery and Clarke falls apart all over again. She cries and cries and cries.

“Shhh… I know, babe. I know…” Raven says. “Your dad will be here to pick us up soon…” she reminds.

Nodding, Clarke gathers herself in the time she has. She presses her palm into her eyes and wipes the tears dry, controls the quiver of her lips, and shakiness in her breath. With Raven living only three houses down, their parents alternate driving them to-and-from everything hockey. And usually, Clarke’s elated to see her dad following two weeks of camp.  They have an ongoing tradition of post-camp ice cream on the drive home. Disregarded is her mom’s dinner and spoiling it with a massive sundae with extra sprinkles, extra nuts, extra fudge.

Within minutes, Clarke spots her dad’s truck enter the parking lot. It’s an old tan truck her mother frequently calls a “rust bucket” but her dad loves it and refuses to get a new one, insistent on driving the truck forever. It’s the kind that still seats three up front across a bench-like arrangement with tattered leather seats. Her dad does _a lot_ of work on it; she has heard her mom complain that it costs them more to maintain than to buy anew.

“Hey, there kiddo!” Jake greets.

“Hi, dad,” Clarke hugs her dad around the waist, surprised at the comfort she finds in his arms. Clarke has always been her father’s daughter and gives him an extra tight squeeze.

“Missed me that much huh?” He ruffles her hair and waves at Raven.

“Hey, Mr. Grif.”

“Girls ready?”

Nodding, Clarke files into the truck with Raven behind her while Jake heaves their bags into the truck bed with little effort, then enters the driver’s side effectively sandwiching Clarke between him and Raven.

“Ice cream?” Jake asks.

Clarke merely nods against her father’s shoulder, presses her face into his shirt in need of something—anything—to comfort her. Some relief is found in Jake’s embrace, bringing his arm around his daughter. He smells like dad, a distinctive musk Clarke associates with the garage: metal, grease, oil. Clarke usually hates it but right now she clings to the familiarity.

“You okay kiddo, kinda quiet there?”

“Yeah… I’m fine, dad. Just tired.” Despite the lie, Clarke closes her eyes and to her surprise, falls asleep. It’s not until Jake gently nudges her awake for ice cream that Clarke realizes so, rubbing her eyes to a neon ice cream sign. Already, she wishes for Lexa. To be shuffling into an ice cream parlor with Lexa in tow and choose three flavors to share on a sundae. Instead, Clarke picks at the cold treat with low interest, watches it melt and pool while Raven is practically inhaling hers down. Raven and her dad are talking about cars; they _always_ talk about cars and when Raven’s not hanging out with Clarke in her room, is in the garage serving as her dad’s sidekick when he works on the truck. Their conversation is ambient noise for her, a distant murmur.

“Clarke… Clarke?”

“Huh? What?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jake asks. “Barely touched your ice cream.”

“Uhh, yeah… yeah…” Clarke quickly shoves several spoonfuls of ice cream in her mouth as means of concealment, but her father squints his eyes dubiously. Clarke has a feeling Jake already knows—recognizes the sadness—because he says nothing else for the remainder of the time. Nothing as they pull up the driveway, as Raven walks home, as Clarke picks at dinner the same way she did the ice cream, and as she retires to her bedroom.

Clarke closes the door against the sound of her parents’ television and curls into bed. Looking around, she wonders what Lexa’s bedroom looks like. Is it the same? Walls adorned with hockey idols, MVP awards, and old jerseys? Or TV and movie posters? She thinks about where Lexa is, likely airborne, flight attendant passing by and asking what she’d like to drink. Lexa doesn’t drink soda, so probably juice, Clarke guesses. But Clarke doesn’t know if Lexa prefers the window or aisle? Even after the nights of endless conversation, Clarke still has questions. Still aches to know more about Lexa.

Utilizing her sole way of finding out, Clarke scoots off her bed and onto her desk. Lexa’s address remains tucked in her pocket and when she unfolds it, finds more than just Lexa’s address but a small note on the side.

 

_I love you, Clarke. Always._

Clarke runs the pad of her thumb over the ink. It’s the first time she’s seen Lexa’s handwriting, a neat cursive, and loves it. She loves everything there is to love about Lexa. As much as her teenage heart can bear and immediately pulls out a pen and paper. Clarke has never written a letter to anyone before, it feels bizarre; she doesn’t even keep a journal but the words flow like their conversations. Several pages later, Clarke decides to start wrapping it up before she ends up with a book to mail, finding some solace that Lexa loves her and will be writing back.

Clarke only allows for a few more tears before going to bed and clutches her pillow tightly in Lexa’s absence, wonders if Lexa is doing the same thing. If Lexa is thinking about her, too.

/

Over a thousand miles away, the thoughts of Clarke are endless. From the moment she stepped foot onto the bus until now, where Lexa lays still in her bed, consciousness drags her into the wee hours of the night. She cannot sleep despite how shitty the middle seat was on the flight, the traffic home when her dad picked her up from the airport, and familiarity of her own bed. Lexa’s eyes remain wide and open, pupils dilated to their max to absorb any molecule of light.

Moonlight seeps through her curtains, though there’s no need to look around to know what her own bedroom looks like: Several hockey sticks in the corner; a poster signed by the Washington Capitals; a bookshelf of books and hockey paraphernalia; a picture of her and her mom on the nightstand; a pile of laundry waiting for her in the corner; a desk, where, Lexa hopes to soon write a reply letter to Clarke.

But the best news yet that has Lexa’s hopes filled to the brim, her dad said yes when she asked to return to the same camp next summer. The promise of Clarke in a year and Lexa intends to count the days. She’s pretty sure she fell in love with Clarke the moment she laid eyes on her and feels like the luckiest girl in the universe that Clarke loves her back. It emboldens Lexa; she is invincible and nothing in the world can stop her.

It’s like being high, to be in love. Although Lexa has never actually gotten high before, can deduce the sensation of endless euphoria. The trickling dose that is keeping her awake right now, flowing freely in her veins. Giving up on sleep, Lexa throws off her covers and putzes into the living room where she slumps onto the couch and flicks on the television. It does a poor job of holding her attention while Lexa recalls on her fresh memories of Clarke. Her face, her hair, her eyes; the way Clarke’s lips slanted against hers when they kissed; the warmth of Clarke, naked beneath her; smell of her hair and neck in the morning; husk of her voice.

Lexa’s never been one to entertain ideologies such as soulmates or reincarnation, but her current existence, in Clarke’s absence, heavily challenges that school of thought. Something is _missing_ , a symbiotic bond has been broken. Lexa doesn’t let herself cry—she’s not much of a cryer to begin with—though it does little to quell the roil in her chest. It pangs at her as if prompting her to do something.

Alas, at sixteen, Lexa is powerless to do anything and her heart flops and flutters like a wild bird stuck in a cage, needing to be set free. Television abandoned, Lexa reverts to something else. Something she hasn’t needed for many years; Lexa pays a visit to her journal, it’s earliest entries as a means of coping after her mother passed. A counselor recommended it. That and lots of team sports and physical activity.

Maybe she’s writing for herself or perhaps she’ll rip the pages out and mail them directly to Clarke as soon as she receives a return address. Either way, Lexa writes and writes and writes. She writes until she falls asleep, face stuck to the pages and pen still in hand. Then, she dreams. Of shimmering gold and sky blue placed in a background of endless lakes that twinkle in the sunset.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, this chapter came out angstier than anticipated-sorry! Expect a bit of a time-jump forward next.

**Author's Note:**

> My inbox is always open! @TheSSClexa on tumblr.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and in no way representative of locations and/or organizations depicted.


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